


The Dealer's Hand

by gauthannja



Series: The Art of Management [3]
Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Dreams, F/M, Graduation, Heartache, Post-Graduation, Power Dynamics, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9835070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gauthannja/pseuds/gauthannja
Summary: College graduation is around the corner and it's time for some tough decisions.In an AU where sushi-burrito is an actual fusion of sushi and burrito, not just a temaki...!!Grown-up themes but nothing too explicit...however, expect foul language!





	1. PART I

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is a continuation of the previous works in this series ([Followed](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7487628) and [the Devil's Cram School](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8068693)) and although it should still be incomprehensible without reading them, it might help!!

~*~

           “I want this monster out of this house! Immediately!”

           Mamori poured a little more plum wine than usual. The cup was nearly overflowing, but if it smoothed over this spat it would be worth the risk of spilling.

           “Grampa, you’ve been saying that for the last four years,” she reminded him as she placed the drink in front of him, “but you still get upset if he misses your mahjong night.”1

            Her grandfather downed it in a single gulp. “He doesn’t respect his elders!”

           “Fuckin’ geezer shouldn’t gamble if he can’t deal with losing.” Hiruma tossed his point counters on the table and stood, hand outstretched. “But that’s fine, I’ll just take my winnings and get out of your hair.”

           Mamori eyed the second drink, this one whiskey intended for Hiruma. She wished he wouldn’t play for money with her grandfather, but she knew neither of them would listen when it came to wagers. At least when Kurita and Musashi joined them she had someone on her side.

           “Sit down, you vile bastard!” Her grandfather barked, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis. “One more game. I’ll take it all back and then some!” He scooped the glass from the tray and sipped at it defiantly.

           Hiruma smirked and returned to his seat. “Don’t count on it, you decrepit piece of shit.”

           “Hiruma!” Mamori exclaimed, uselessly. With a sigh of resignation she stood, “I’ll get you another glass.”

           “No. Stay. You’ll play the East wind. I don’t want this fuckin’ corpse to start as the dealer.”

           “I will defeat you, fiend!”

           Mamori wanted to excuse herself to the kitchen where she was free to laugh at their ongoing feud, but instead she sat and pushed the smooth tiles into the centre of the table. Those dishes weren’t going to do themselves, but they could wait. She had become slightly addicted to that game, even if her main objective was to calculate her discards in a way that allowed her grandfather to secure the occasional win. It took a certain amount of skill and deceit to disguise this from him, which had its own thrill. And her opponents brought out the most amusing, argumentative sides of one another. It reminded her of some old memory that she couldn’t quite place.

            By the time the game ended, her grandfather had completely recovered his losses and made some considerable gains. “I told you, didn’t I? I told you I would defeat you!” he was laughing as Mamori slipped out to attend to the dishes, smiling. Her thoughts drifted from their final round to the preparations for the next day. Though she was certain everything was ready, she ran through the checklist again in her mind.

            “Your interference is becoming expensive,” the whisper slithered down her neck. She shivered just before Hiruma kissed her behind the ear, then melted under the warmth.

            “I barely did anything,” she murmured, reaching for the towel and tossing it at him. “Thank goodness he only does this on nights Mama is working. She would never stand for it.”

            “Keh, your mother knows. She’s not stupid.” He toyed with the towel for a time before finally using it for its intended purpose. “She knows about some other things too, you know. Kehkehkeh!”

            Mamori felt her cheeks burn fiercely, which only fuelled his laughter. They were adults, after all, there wasn’t really any need to hide, but she liked to imagine they had been discrete. And… after everything, she really should not need to blush.

            It had taken so long to gather the courage to ask him, to conjure the words that were so difficult to say. It felt like an incredible risk to ask, but it had been so strange and surprising—but then again, he was a strange and surprising person. How was it they could lay together and do unspeakable things, but not the most unspeakable thing? Somehow, she had managed to utter the three-letter word, if only once. His answer had been teasing at first, laughing at her, but it was the kind of laugh that he used as a shield. “Kehkehkeh, I must not be very good at this, if it took this long for you to beg!”

           “I’m not begging! I’m just… asking.” She had peered at him through the dark, past his arms and fingers that wrapped around her. “I don’t mind either way. I just thought…” she was thankful that it was too dim to see the colour of her face, but even her voice was red as she dropped to a shy whisper, “…that you would be good at it…”

           He had nearly crushed her in his arms as he laughed harder than ever. “They say you shouldn’t do things that you can’t even talk about! Kehkehkeh!”

           “Stop laughing! I’m serious!” she pushed against him with her fists, half in protest and half to secure adequate access to oxygen. “It’s not easy to… I don’t know. I wanted… to ask. That’s all.”

           When his laughter eventually faded he seemed almost thoughtful, but he flicked at a lock of her hair as if what he was about to say meant nothing at all.

           “You know how I feel about promises.”

           She nodded.

           “I made myself a promise. So certain activities are off the table.”

           “What kind of promise…?”

           When he didn’t reply she ventured a guess.

           “Are you… waiting until marriage?”

           That time his laugh was a quiet breath. “Oh my god, how long have you known me? Are we complete strangers?”

           “Maybe…” she blinked back the sting, “I’m never sure if you are incredibly complicated or very, very simple.”

           “Clever girl…” he patted her head in appreciation. “No… I promised myself I wouldn’t get you knocked up. Well, that I wouldn’t do that to anyone, actually, but you are kind of the only one who matters in that regard.”

           “I see,” she supposed she could almost forgive his earlier comments. “You know about these things called contraceptives, right?”

           “I know that none of them is a hundred percent certain. You see the trouble with that, I hope.”

           “The chances are very low, like barely even one percent.”

           “You know how I am with those kinds of odds. It’s too much risk, for this kind of curse anyway.”

           “Youichi…”

           “Consequently, I am forced to make you scream by other means, kehkehkeh!”

           He proceeded to make a persuasive argument. It was only much later, as they were drifting to sleep, that she could whisper what she had meant to say before he had distracted her. “One person’s curse is another’s blessing, beautiful and unpredictable and thoughtful and wild Hiruma Youichi.” But Hiruma was already snoring.

           Many months passed before she raised the subject again. That day she pressed his laptop shut and placed a small foil-lined blister pack in front of him. He raised an eyebrow at the half-dozen pills that remained before turning the sceptical gaze on her. “What am I looking at?”

           “Something that I had to go to a doctor on the other side of town to get without the unpleasant side effects of vicious rumours and being ostracized.2 This is my contribution. It won’t help if you have been sharing parfaits with Agon, of course.”

           “Too bad I am not really his type. Besides, you are the one addicted to fucking desserts…”

           “I’ve been taking them for three weeks.”

           “Sorry for your wasted efforts, but it is still too risky,” he tossed the packet back at her and reopened his laptop, though he barely glanced at the screen. “Do you have any idea of the stats on these things? They say it’s over ninety-nine percent safe…”

           “99.7%, yes. Are you actually freaking out over a point-three-percent chance?”

           “Keh, that’s just if everything is perfect. Do you know the actual rate, on average? Want to take a guess?”

           “Ninety-seven percent.”

           “Ninety-two.3 Think about it. EIGHT percent, fucking genius-manager. Our lives could be over before we finish college.”

           She snapped the lid of the computer down again. “Please consider who you are talking about. Do you think I will be an ‘average’ user? That I would forget something as simple as taking a pill once a day? If you are worried about odds, this is the best option.”

           “There is nothing that is one-hundred percent guaranteed.”

           “I know. That’s fine.”

           “It’s not fine, it’s serious. It’s a curse.”

           “Stop saying things like that! Besides, I think you are giving yourself a little too much credit in terms of beating these odds.”

           “So you would risk it?”

           “No, I would not ‘risk’ it,” she tried to control her voice but she was losing, “because to me it is not a curse!”

           “It would be a curse on you, it would be a curse on me… not to mention the poor damned kid! Plus any brat of mine will likely bring on the apocalypse. Might as well curse the whole world while we’re at it.”

           “You are making unfounded and melodramatic exaggerations!”

           “Every exaggeration has some truth to it and you know it. It’s the worst possible scenario.”

           “The worst… possible…!?”

           “Yeah. The worst. Why would you risk it?”

           “Because!” she was too frustrated to hesitate, despite the fear that rose quick in her lungs, “I love you, you idiot! I want you! And I want all of you! I want your heart and your mind and I want all the rest of you, too! So, yes, I would risk it!”

           All four legs of his chair touched the ground, but otherwise he made no motion. If he seemed stunned at the outburst, her own face matched it. After a moment she had regained enough of her voice for a quiet addendum. “Look, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. But you know who I am. If, somehow, by that tiny, tiny chance… my life would not be over. It would be just beginning. So I’m not afraid of those odds, no matter how good you are at beating them. But I know who you are, too, Hiruma Youichi. I’m not expecting anything of you. If you think you would be cursed then fine, but I would not be the one cursing you. And you couldn’t curse me even if you tried. Do you understand?”

           He did not reply except to contemplate her with a long stare. Even if she knew to expect silence, it was so tiring, after scraping together the words and the courage, to be left with nothing she could repeat to herself later.

           “Well?”

           He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his lap where their eyes could be level. “You know who I am. I know who you are…but…”

           “But you don’t trust me.”

           “Tch, it’s not that… It’s just…” He could not seem to arrange the words.

           “I’ve always taken care of you,” she brushed the spikes of his hair according to their most habitual directions, “I won’t stop now.”

           “There are… things… I can never allow to happen, okay? There are promises that I can never make. There are--”

           “Youichi,” she stopped him. “Don’t worry about the future. It doesn’t exist. Let’s forget about careful plans and what happens after college. I don’t care about that. There are so many things we can’t control. Let’s be happy now. If we are going to be together, I don’t want to hold back.”

           He studied her carefully as she spoke. Then he closed his eyes as if doing a difficult calculation that required all his focus. When he opened them again a smirk emerged on his face. “It is hard to argue with you on top of me like this.”

           “You are the one who put me here!” Mamori pointed out. “I was trying to have a mature conversation, like adults. If you—ah…” The row of kisses he had been planting along her shoulder reached that spot on her neck that always made her melt. She could feel his arms tighten but for once he was careful not to crush her. The quiet moments of this embrace filled her heart. As he held her close against him his words were tangled in her hair. “It seems you are worth risking malediction, my enchanting and bewitching and surprising and brave Anezaki Mamori.”

           After all the time that had passed since then, no curses had been laid. Their lives had not ended nor had any new lives begun. She wiped down the counter, still thinking about curses and blessings and fears and dreams, as Hiruma put away the last plate.

           “Do you need anything, for tomorrow?”

           “Just you.”

           “Yeah… but you know me.”

           “I know you,” she agreed.

           “Anyway, you know I’ll be at the fucking Korean-BBQ drinking party after, since I made the reservation. The owner was so kind to give us that special all-you-can-eat rate! Kehkehkeh!” he laughed all the way to the door. As he slipped on his jacket he asked again, “So, anything? Tissues, maybe?”

           “It would be strange if you were in the ceremony, of course. But…” she pictured everyone dressed up, smiling, crying, taking photos. “It would be nice if you were there, somewhere.”

           “Keh… I’ll be there somewhere.”

 

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1// I don’t know why they would play mahjong except that I knew more about it than any other gambling game thanks to watching BOTH the anime and drama versions of Akagi. However, it was not enough! Since writing this section I have actually learned how to play and this sentence (I don't want him to start as dealer) really has no meaning. The role of dealer rotates between players and has both advantages and disadvantages in terms of points and game play. heheheh if you noticed this I'm sorry! 
> 
> 2// I’ve been reading up on the history of the pill in Japan and have realized that a lot of my assumptions are based on my experience in North America (assumptions which provided the foundation for a lot of this chapter/story!). Did you know the birth control pill was only legalized in Japan in 1999? Wow! According to the internet (!?), going to a gynecologist in Japan is basically saying you have an STD or unplanned pregnancy and is one of the reasons the pill hasn’t been widely adopted yet. Apparently abortions (legal since the 1950s) are very common. Some sites to read more, although there are many more articles out there: http://factsanddetails.com/japan/cat18/sub112/item599.html also http://finedays.org/pill/e/


	2. PART I

~*~

            “One plus one is…. cheese! Great! Okay, now one with all three of us.”

            Mamori was slightly embarrassed that her mother owned one of those new-fangled selfie sticks, but she couldn’t let her discomfort show in the hundreds of photos that were necessary on graduation day. Luckily, she was very good at smiling.

            “These girls must have spent a fortune, all their parents’ hard earned money, to get all fancied up like this,” her grandfather declared, leaning on his cane. “Back in my day girls didn’t need to go to university.”

            “Well, now lots of girls go to university, Grampa!” A pretty smile was easier when her grandfather said such silly things. She had arranged her own attire with the most frugal sensibility and she was sure most other girls did the same, but of course there were some extravagant exceptions.

            “Mamori, dear, wouldn’t you like some photos with your friends?” Her mother looked around for a familiar face among the other groups of families taking photos near the Saikyoudai entrance sign. “Where is Hiruma?”

            “We’re a little early. I’m sure we will run into everyone soon.”

            It was not long before some very done-up and very dear friends rushed toward her, gushing. “Oh my goodness!!! Mamochaaaan you look fabulous!!”

            “Thank you! You both look lovely! Oh, is that the hairpin you got on our trip on winter break? It’s perfect!”

            “Okay, girls I’ll take a photo! Smile!”

            Her grandfather sighed audibly. “Hopefully I am no longer needed here. This is my cue to find a seat inside, befitting the rickety old man I am.”

            Her mother spotted an old friend and was drawn away to greet her family, but her grandfather began the trek toward the university buildings without her.

            “Grampa, wait,” Mamori called after him, “I’ll walk you there.”

            “No need! I am stronger than I look.”

            “Don’t be so wilful, I’m coming with you.” She excused herself from her friends with a promise to talk again soon and joined her grandfather by his side. There was something amusing about the fact that his pace matched perfectly with the small steps a kimono required, while she was—for once!— wearing the pleated hakama pants that technically freed her of such restrictions.

            “Mamori, there are a lot of beautiful and I _suppose_ intelligent young ladies here… although it is a little difficult to tell with all that make-up.”

            She smiled. “That is unkind.”

            “I’m not finished, just wait a moment! That’s right, there are lots of beautiful women here, but anyone who doesn’t think you are the most beautiful of them all is a raving lunatic.”

            “You are very sweet,” she laughed, “but being beautiful is not really important.”

            “You say that because you have never been ugly. Talk to any of these ugly girls and they will tell you, it’s important.”

            “Grampa!!”

            “Hrm, well I see my heart-warming graduation day speech is already going south. Being beautiful is not important, huh? Well at least that is something I could try to take some credit for. Oh, I know I don’t look it, but I was known to be a heartbreaker in my day. Your grandma had quite the fighting spirit to weather the storm of all the advances I had. Well, now… On the other hand, sadly, I don’t think I have anything to do with you being the most intelligent woman in this country.”

            “I’m only top of my class, Grampa. I am certainly _not_ the most intelligent woman in the country…” she turned to face him, “But you did have something to do with it. A lot to do with it. Really, I owe you so much. I wanted to thank you, but I never did. So… Thank you.” She made a respectful bow. Not too deep, but straight and proper.

            “Bwa ha ha! You learned how to lie pretty well from that bloody monster, didn’t you?” The old man chortled heartily before letting his buoyant humour fade away into a sober expression. “No, you’re not lying, I know. You’ve got a beautiful heart, Mamori, and I’ve been lucky to share these last few years with you. I should be the one thanking you.”

            “Thanking me?” She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen him with such an unaffected manner.

            “Your mother told me what you did.” His expression was serious, almost severe. “I still can’t believe it… What’s done is done, we can’t change it. But if I had known, I never would have allowed it. You were accepted to a world-class school! And now what? Now you are graduating from some third-rank university. Not one of the National Seven, not even a public university for goodness sake!”

            “Didn’t you just say women didn’t need to go to university?” she teased gently. It was hard to smile, but she did her best.

            “I _said_ that was how it was in my day, which was thankfully long, long ago. Not long enough ago, it seems. That doesn’t change the facts. You were wasted here. And it’s on my conscience.”

            “Grampa…”

            “You could have become anything.”

            “Grampa, listen…”

            “Instead you’ll be wiping the snotty noses of other people’s brats.”

            “There is something very important you need to know.”

            “I was such a fool, to— eh?”

            “These last four years, I have been happy.”

            He seemed ready to dismiss her words, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that she was smiling.

            “I have no regrets.”

            He studied her eyes, his own glassy with age but with an unfamiliar shimmer. “Herm. I don’t know how to tell if you are lying. You are certainly more convincing now than when you discarded that red dragon last night. My god, I ought to double your allowance. No, I’ll increase it three-hundred percent!”

            He resumed their ambling pace, telling old stories and making odd jokes until they reached the entrance to the gymnasium. He breathed a deep sigh before turning to her again. “I might be over-eager believe you, Mamori. I hope it is true.”

            “I’m happy. Really.”

            “I’m glad. Although… I notice you didn’t turn down that raise. Maybe your heart isn’t so pure after all.”

            She helped him up the step. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure three-hundred percent of zero, Grampa.”

            “Next time, I will win against you fair and square. Unless you can score against me, that is!”

            “Gambling... is really not a good thing!” she protested. “But be careful what you wish for. I won’t go easy on you!”

            “Ha! Very good.”

            Mamori smiled to herself as she stepped back out the doors. She glanced toward the gates where she had left her mother, but she must have entered the thick masses of graduates and their families in the grounds. Mamori headed toward a raised area of the limited landscaping near the fence to gain a better view of the crowd. Some of the others should have arrived by that time anyway and she would be able to spot them more easily from the hill.

            “Old man is right,” a familiar voice behind her said. She stopped mid-step. Agon grinned at her over his shades. “You’re wasted here, on that trash.”

            “Agon-kun…” Her reply was suspicious. “What are you doing here?”

            “Can’t I attend my own graduation?”

            She studied him carefully. She would never have expected him to show up, much less dressed in a suit as though he were taking it seriously. But in some ways he hadn’t changed: he shrugged off the girl who was clutching his arm and elbowed her away. Then he followed Mamori as she ascended the tiny slope with a mocking smile.

            “Gramps is wrong about one thing, though. You aren’t smart. You might be the dumbest person I know.”

            “What exactly inspires this?”

            “You get fooled over and over,” he chuckled to himself. “And you are about to get fooled again.”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            “Exactly.”

            She searched the sea of faces, hoping to recognise someone quickly and put the conversation to an end. “I guess I should be flattered. I didn’t think you would bother to have an opinion about me.”

            “I have had an opinion on you since the first time I laid eyes on you. Either you know that, or you are proving my point.” Agon watched her, amused. “Anyway, it’s not like I have a problem with you being so dumb. You would have been wasted in America, without a team like ours.”

            She stared at him in disbelief. “Agon…kun…”

            “Don’t get too sentimental. We would have been fine without you.”

            Mamori smiled and turned back to the scanning crowd. “So, how am I going to get fooled this time?”

            “That trash you are so fond of.”

            “You might have to be more specific.”

            “You know which one.”

            “Yes…?”

            “Well, you know him.”

            “Yes, I know him.”

            “So, you know what he wants.”

            She didn’t reply. He was beginning to remind her of someone, and not in a charming way. And she wasn’t sure she could answer that question if it was put to her. The Christmas Bowl and the Rice Bowl were no longer valid responses.

            “You’re right. I’m not very good with intrigue,” she sighed, “but I know better than to try to predict his plans. If he is hiding something, that’s fine. I trust him.”

            “Is that so?” Agon yawned. “Let me tell you about something that happened not so long ago. A certain trash was ballzy enough to apply to some fancy schools in America. The joke was on him, of course. He didn’t stand a chance. He overreached, and for once none of his schemes could save him. So he took you down with him.”

            “You aren’t making any sense.”

            Agon’s mouth stretched into a delighted smirk. “So you really didn't know…”

            “Your date is looking for you, fuckin’ Dreads.” The sun must have passed behind a cloud. The shadow that fell on them was cold.

            “You’re still hanging on by the apron strings I see,” Agon peered at Hiruma through his shades. He glanced toward Mamori before he shrugged and descended the hill. “Well, you can thank me some other time.”

            Hiruma watched him disappear while Mamori pretended to search for the others. They were practiced at long silences, but this one was uncomfortable.

            “Do you think I am stupid?” she asked finally, her voice more earnest than rhetorical.

            “Only when you ask questions like that.” He stretched his gum into a bubble and devouring it again. “You don’t usually let jackasses like him get under your skin.”

            “Was he lying?”

            “Tch. You know which part was a lie.”

            By then she was fairly certain that her mother had already joined her grandfather inside, but the crowd had become a confusing mass of colors. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

            “I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t get in, there was nothing to tell. The others were just more suspicious than certain geniuses.”

            Mamori glanced toward him. His tone and his posture hadn’t changed, as though being rejected had not affected him. She marvelled again at his ability to obscure anything that might suggest weakness. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

            “Tch, for what?”

            “I’m sorry that you didn’t get in.”

            Hiruma shrugged. “It was a gamble. I lost.”

            “I think it was those schools that missed out on their chance.”

            “Keh, sometimes I wonder if you wear that cheerleader costume under your manager clothes.” He allowed the barest trace of a smile emerge on his face. “That was a long time ago. I don’t need consolation. It was only a dream.”

            “And now,” she asked, “what are your dreams?”

            As expected, he didn’t reply.

            “Ever since you started using Takekura Construction as your base for your engineering internship, they’ve become a competitive firm. You’re at it again, building something from nothing.”

            “Yeah, well…” His mouth formed proper lop-sided smile. “It’s kind of fun, you know, getting other people to build the shit that was just in your head before.”

            “Musashi is happy to have you there.”

            “Tch, the old man is just happy that I haven’t bankrupt them yet. I take too many risks.”

            “Maybe, but they have been growing ever since you’ve been with them.”

            “Keh, I also know how to hustle better than any of those idiots!”

            “They could become a major player in the sector, if you became a partner.”

            “Yeah…”

            She watched the muscles around his eyes for clues. “That’s not it, is it?”

            “It’s interesting. And it’s fun.”

            “But it doesn’t make your blood race.” Maybe it was a stretch, but he didn’t correct her. “Youichi… what are your dreams?”

            He answered with silence.

            “You don’t have to tell me. But do you know what they are?”

            A new gum-bubble appeared before those unrelenting eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

            “I’m glad.”

            “How about you?”

            She nodded, blinking hard.

            “Tch. I didn’t think dreams were supposed to make you look so miserable.”

            She took a moment to compose the best smile she could muster. “Congratulations on your graduation, brilliant and hilarious and formidable and irresistible Hiruma Youichi.”

            He grinned despite himself. “You should go smile for all those photos that people who buy into this whole spectacle need to remember shit like this. Before the ceremony starts and they ruin their make-up.”

            “I’m a little bit tired of smiling,” she admitted, “but you are right.”

            “Damn right I’m right! Kehkehkeh!”

            Despite what she had said, her smile came easily thanks to the laugh he had put beneath it. He could never really understand what it meant to be relieved of the burden of smiling or how much weight he lifted with his words and his ways. Maybe that was why, right there, in that public place surrounded by crowds of people, she stole a kiss from him. And she didn’t blush.

            “I’m glad you came.”

~*~


	3. PART I

 ~*~

            “YAAAAA HAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!”

            This was it, then. She had stepped through the doorway at the fated moment, without time to even remove her shoes.

            “Congratulations!” Mamori beamed, tapping her hands together in dainty applause. The slightest pause in his celebratory antics seemed to suggest her response had registered as an incongruence in his thoughts, but he recovered from it without missing a beat, brandishing his wildest grin.

            “Fucking genius-manager, you will – never – fucking – guess – this news!”

            She smiled. “You were recruited to the San Antonio Armadillos.”

            This time the pause was complete. No words filled it, but the question was clear.

            “I know things,” she replied. He had put the bulk of his weapons in storage. She had started asking questions. Perhaps Agon’s warning had been part of it, perhaps not.

            “Kehkehkeh! Bloody hell, you...!” His sentence broke off, impossible to finish with anything but a wild, hearty cackle.

            That laughter propped up her smile a little longer than she had thought she could manage. “Playing on a pro team in America… I’m so happy for you.”

            He typed madly, cackling some more before slamming his laptop shut. Then he produced a suitcase from nowhere and threw it on the bed. Items were tossed into it indiscriminately, albeit with great accuracy.

            “Youichi, why are you packing?”

            There was so little for him to shove in the suitcase that he had nearly emptied the room already. Garbage was likewise being shoved, unsorted, into a bag. She could not remember the last time she had seen the floor of the tiny business hotel room he still used as an apartment. Where they had spent so many nights together with no distance between them. Only two nights earlier she had scolded him about the mess, but he made her forget it and everything else. When the morning came, however, she remembered. She had watched him sleep, wondering if he knew that she knew, thinking how pointless it was to try to keep things from a person who always managed to know everything. Still, this time he had seemed honestly surprised.

            “There is a plane at five am. It’s perfect, we can avoid traffic. Get your bags ready, fucking genius-manager, we’re leaving! Kehkehkeh!!”

            He zipped the luggage shut and stormed toward the doorway that Mamori had only just entered, but she hadn’t moved to follow his instructions. His face took on that unimpressed expression he used to try to look cool when he was actually confused or frustrated. “What?”

            She had prepared for that moment, but the reply was still hard. “I am going to miss you.”

           “Tch. Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. I said _we_ are leaving.”

            “You never change.”

            His eyes narrowed. “What makes you say that?”

            “Youichi… You can’t just decide other people’s lives.”

            “We’re going to America. This is what you have always wanted. You win.”

            “I dreamed that once.” Her words were measured, smiling, quiet. “That was a long time ago.”

            “They have kindergartens in America, you know.”

            “It’s more than that…”

            “We’re going to hell together, remember?”

            “Youichi...” she held his eyes a moment before continuing softly. “You asked me to stay. I stayed.”

            He ran a hand through his hair and swore under his breath.

            “But,” she whispered, “I won’t ask you to stay.”

            “So come with me. It’s simple.”

            Her reply was the same quiet look as before.

            “Then ask me,” he changed tactics. “You don’t know the answer. Ask me to stay.”

            “Don’t be ridiculous. I won’t let you just dream—” she thought she could deliver the phrase without choking, but she was wrong. She shook out the lump in her throat and continued with the practical tone she had planned. “—and spend the rest of your life regretting it. This is your chance.”

            “Tch. It is my choice to make.”

            “No. You gave me your life. The choice is mine. You have to go.”

            He growled at that. “Yes, I gave you my life! What the fuck do you think that meant?”

            “Whatever it meant, it doesn’t change the fact that what I want and what you want— ”

            “—tch!— ”

            “—are very different things.”

            “No. Fuck. This.”

            “You know it is true.”

            “Even after everything? All these years, we fucking destroyed everything that stood in our path, together!”

            “Yes, even after all that.” Every part of her ached as though she had been crying for years. “You know me. I know you. We have both changed in some ways, but not in others. There is something I want that hasn’t changed. Something I am not willing to give up. But, as for you…” Mamori suddenly found could not finish the phrase. She could not even manage to wipe the streams of tears from her cheeks as she thought of the words: _worst possible scenario._

            His stare ate at something just out of sight with the intensity that generated his most desperate plans of attack. Finally he met her eyes. They exchanged forms of meaning that could not be spoken: Of the trust they had enjoyed and taken for granted. Of memories, of vulnerability. Of possible futures, all ending the same. Of the breaking of dreams. Of the facing of facts.

            “We were just delaying…?”

            “Delaying the end.”

            The angle of his shoulders told her too much; it was too painful to see. She expected him to shoot something, or break something, or at least throw something. Instead, he contemplated the ceiling at length. She drew a long, slow breath to master the barrage of flinches below her lungs that were meant to become sobs, then forced the part of her that was still fighting the facts deeper inside. When it finally seemed safe, when it seemed that her body would not betray her, she moved to take his bag and help him through the door to lock up.

            “Are you going to be okay over there on your own?”

            He put a hand to her face and traced the paths the tears had taken. Some patches of her cheeks had nearly dried, but the flow renewed when he looked into her eyes as though trying to memorize them.

            “I guess I’ll have to get stronger.”

 

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ fin ~
> 
>  
> 
> Just kidding!!!  
> This was the original ending when I set out to write this story as an epilogue. But it left me too sad inside, and I didn't want you to feel the same way!!! So I have explored a little further what post-college life might be for these two. All that to say, several more chapters to follow!!!


	4. PART II

~*~

            There was an undetermined period of time on the day of his first official practice with the San Antonio Armadillos that Hiruma Youichi could not remember, but the side of his face was freezing when he regained consciousness. The intoxicating perfume of antiseptic reminded him of someone he was better off forgetting, and were it not for the insistent sting at his ribs he would have passed it off as another dream.  Instead, it was a man who stood over him. He barely recognized him without the smile that usually engulfed his face. It was rare to see Patrick Spencer so serious.

            “Where am I?” Hiruma tried not to move his jaw. It hurt so many ways, in so many places. There were already bandages on his arms and one under the icepack that addressed the swelling of his face. He knew that if his ribs were really broken they would hurt much worse than they did, so at least there was that.

            “The infirmary. Just fixing you up enough to see a proper doctor. I’m thinking you’ll need stitches.” Panther moved from the wounds he was cleaning to check Hiruma’s pupils for signs of concussion. “You remember what happened?”

            “Yeah, I remember.”

            It was his first day. His information network was still incubating; his threat book could not serve him. His forked, silver tongue was useless against the unintimidatable man who led the rest of them. Hiruma remembered the fist that had dealt the first blow, just as he remembered all the hands that held him down, the laughter and the words: “There ain’t no room on this team for stinkin’ Japs, monkeys, dogs, or any of this vermin they keep on signing. You best remember this lesson. We’ll keep teaching it until you learn.”

            He remembered the knife, too, but most of all he remembered what he had seen in the eyes of the man who cut him. He was perfectly content and confident in his power. It was not drawn from some sadistic pleasure in causing pain, but from the complete and perfect domination of another being. Aside from the anger and a touch of fear there was a nauseating pain like drowning in venom as Hiruma realized he had never really known what it felt to be powerless.

            “That guy…”

            Panther glanced at him as he cleaned the cuts that ran down Hiruma’s side. “Wallace. Yeah.”

            “People call me a demon.” Everything he had done to earn that title felt like silly tricks. “Fucking idiots.”    

            “Nah, not idiots,” Panther shook his head gently. “Just means they’ve never seen the real thing. Same as you, before now.”

            Hiruma turned this thought over in his mind, imagining himself as just another fool who didn’t suspect the side of things he had glimpsed thanks to that bastard. An alternate reality had come into view. 

            “I should have warned you,” Panther’s voice was tinged with regret, “but I didn’t think he would go after you, too.”

            Hiruma narrowed his eyes at his teammate. Panther lifted his shirt enough to show the fresh scars curving across his ribs to his hip. They could only be a few weeks old, but even mostly healed they looked nastier than his own.

            “I’ve been through worse,” Panther shrugged as he let his shirt drop over them again. “Not by my own team, though.”

            “With your legs, how did they catch you?”

            “At training camp you gotta sleep with one eye open. I learned a bit later than I'd've liked.”

            No power. That feeling hurt worse than the cuts on his side. “Fucking bastards.”

            “Getting this high brings out the best in some folks.” Panther returned to Hiruma’s wounds. “But for some folks it's their bad side that gets them through that struggle up to the top. Some turn out real, real bad. It’s not all sportsmanship and teamwork in the pro leagues. Not everyone is Sena Kobayakawa.”

            Hiruma laughed at that but it sounded more like a cough. Who would have guessed a name could be a salve…

            “Wallace isn’t the only one,” Panther warned. “You aren’t white but you’re not Black either. Some brothers would do the same to you as Wallace done if they had the chance.  I can speak for you, but I can't say it'd make much difference. But they hate Wallace and his crew worse than anything else, so it might be they'll leave off on you.”

            “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, huh?”

            “Sure, minus the friend part. They won't be protecting you.”

            No, there was only one person to protect him—the thought had fully formed even before he could push it away. He would need to be faster. “Keh. That's fine. I just need some time. He won't touch anyone again.”

            Panther eyed him warily. “What’ve you got in mind?”

            Hiruma remembered what he had seen in the eyes of the man who taught him how it felt to be powerless. “I'm going to kill him.”

            He might have sealed it with a promise, but his side convulsed as Panther pressed the cotton hard against his wound. “Don't go being a fool. Folks like me get shot here and nobody bats an eyelash. For you, maybe some folks’ll blink but they sure as hell won't say a word. If you so much as open carry, even with your papers and registration all proper, they'll lock you up. If you’re damn lucky they'll deport you, but I wouldn't put my money on that. And it’s worse on the inside than what you'll be getting out here. I worked too damn hard to get here to throw it away like that. It’s gotta be the same for you. So don't go being a fool.”1

            “I'll take him down somehow. There are ways.” Hiruma felt the sickness rise in his throat again. No power. “I'll get something we can use against him. Someone's gotta have something on him.”

            “You don't think he's done plenty? You think if we catch him on something real bad, that anything would happen to him? A slap on the wrist, maybe. There’s a system in place that puts all the blame on guys like us and gives guys like him every second chance. I don't know what it's like back where you come from, but here shit is rigged in favor of guys like him. It’s not…” Panther let his sentence drop in frustration.

            Hiruma watched as Panther resigned himself to silence and turned back to the disinfectant. These kinds of things were best left unsaid, better understood through experience, but Panther had struggled to say it anyway. “Why are you wasting your breath on me?”

            “You’re on my team. And I can’t let a friend of Sena’s wind up dead. It’s better you learn fast than the hard way. You’ll see for yourself, soon enough, the view from the bottom. In Japan you could only look down.”

            Hiruma stared at the ceiling with its foam paneling and fluorescent tubes as the sting of the cleaning continued. Betrayed by their own team members. “Tch. He’s got to pay. I’ll make him pay.”

            “Whatever made Wallace how he is, how he thinks we’re less than human, that’s his problem. You and me both know how wrong he is. Problem for us is he gets away with what he does ‘cause the others think the same. Not just on the team. In the league, in the media, the courts… Nobody’s gonna stop him, he sees that clear as day.”

            No power. No justice. “So there is only one way…”

            “Yeah. Teach him what real football is. Football he won’t even understand.”

            “Win the Suρer Boωl.”

            “That’s right. Blow his mind.”

            “Tch. He's on our team. If we win, he wins, too.”

            “And how you think he's gonna feel when the MVP goes to someone he marked?”

            “Ah. About that.” Hiruma lifted his head to look at the gashes along his ribs. The sight of it threatened to strangle him. “Get me a knife.”

            “A… knife?”

            “Or a blade or a piece of broken glass, for all I care! Something that will cut.”

            “Uhhh… Okay, okay!” Panther recoiled at his glare. He rifled through the infirmary drawers and returned with a cutting blade. Before handing it over he hesitated. He must have understood. “Let me sterilize it first.”

            Hiruma nodded, tracing invisible lines in the spaces between the cuts with a finger. When Panther placed the blade in his hand, Hiruma inhaled slowly to prepare for the pain as he moved to make his first cut. Perhaps it was because of the smell again, but he could hear her voice in the back of his mind, clear as if she were calling from the other side of sleep. _Hiruma! What are you-- No no no! What are you doing!?! Stop it!!_

            “Tch. Always worrying,” he replied through his teeth, despite her very obvious absence. “It is going to be glorious.” By the time he had finished carving his own skin he had little strength left to clean the wounds.

            “You are one crazy motherfucker.” Panther shook his head while examining the final result. The old cuts combined with the new bloody ones to form some kind of symbol. “Is that a word?”

            “Yeah. It's a word. And it's a character from my name. Wallace can burn in hell. This mark is mine now.”

            “Not bad,” Panther approved. “What’s it mean?”

            Hiruma smirked, thinking of the lives he would soon ruin. “It means ‘demon’.”

            Panther peeled off his shirt and looked at his scars from new angles. “Yeah, look, it'll be a panther, right? See, this is the back and those are the claws.”

            Hiruma passed him the blade. Panther grit his teeth as he opened his skin until a red wild cat crawled across his side.

            “Now we’re both crazy motherfuckers.” Hiruma observed.

            “Crazy blood brothers.” Panther’s characteristic grin cracked over his face. He stretched out his hand, sealing their connection between their palms. “To the Suρer Boωl.”

            Hiruma grinned back despite the layers of bandages and pain. “To the fucking Suρer Boωl.”

 ~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1// Though Panther was always a portrayed as Sena's American counterpart -- a pure role model who never uttered a curse or even a hinted at a hateful thought… it’s hard for me to buy into that. I think you, dear reader, can handle Panther talking straight, with some choice expletives.


	5. PART II

 ~*~

           Panther had been right, Hiruma had to admit as he parked his Suzuki beside the row of Harleys that framed the apartment complex. The geometry of power flowed differently in that place. Even after its pages were filled, his book of threats did not have the effect he was used to: he could annoy and provoke, but he could not make men dance the way he once had. It felt like he was running on ice, barely advancing, more often than not falling on his ass.

            Yeah, that place was different. Americans didn’t care about threats or their reputation being damaged—they just laughed and denied and deflected. He could not get things done that way. Still, the little black book was not completely useless. Over the months he had recalibrated his technique to the changed functionality of his weapon and reorganized his strategy. Though the season was nearly over, there was still a glimmer of hope. A plenty-more-than-non-zero chance.

 _So, when do we get see you on the field?_ Musashi taunted him via instant messenger.

 _Soon._ Hiruma replied.

_Hope you make it by the time Sena joins the NFL._

_Just keep your fucking eyes open, old man!!! >:F_

            Hiruma had spent most of his precious off-day monitoring the progress of certain pressure points and feedback loops within the associative networks in the upper echelons. Finally he had to accept that there was nothing left to do but wait, and so after a visit to the firing range he returned to his apartment. As he entered the building, the manager stood squarely in his path, displaying more guts than Hiruma had expected of him. The man shoved a ridiculous stack of mail into the football player’s arms. “Check your mail once in a while! The mailman couldn’t close your box!” was the full extent of his gruff explanation as he retreated to his office and the telenovela that blared at full volume.

            As he unlocked his door Hiruma could tell from a quick glance at the pile that what wasn’t junk mail in it was mainly bills. That was precisely the reason he had not bothered to check his box in months. That, and the fact that the key was… somewhere. He lingered in the doorway, sorting the bills from the rest by tossing the flyers over his shoulder into the hall. The spine of a magazine dedicated to Japanese college football peeked out from under an assortment of pizza delivery menus. The information would be old compared with what was available on the internet, but he was eager to memorize every page and check them for errors. As he pulled it from the middle of the pile something slipped loose and fluttered to the floor. It was the size and shape of a postcard, with a cute cartoon bear in cheerful colors. That bear featured in his threatbook under the dossier of a former manager of one of his old teams. Hiruma felt a pulse in his throat, a warning drum. He crouched, studying the card like a dangerous insect.

            Written above Rocket Bear were the words _HAPPY BIRTHDAY_!

            The muscles in his jaw tensed as he frowned. He wondered how she had found out his birthday. That was information he had rubbed out of the record. Even Kurita and Musashi did not know.

            That card was the first correspondence he had had from her since he had left. It was an intrusion. He had been very carefully living as though nothing had happened. He had immediately recognized that lying to himself was the most efficient method to continue functioning, and as this functionality was essential to his survival he swiftly perfected the art, personal policies toward the practice be damned. Leaving the old man and the fat ass was something different—he felt that as a constant ache that he refused to ignore, even when he was so busy scheming and plotting that forgetting came easily. Her absence felt precisely like nothing: something completely numb, a hollow void, an empty, vaporous nothing. A careful mental architecture held the memories and pain just beyond consciousness. It had the structural integrity of a house of cards, but it was, miraculously, still standing. Here was one more card, a reminder of everything that he had been pushing back with the most cautious effort, adding its weight and straining the load-bearing points.

            That scrap of paper forced on him a question. What had she written, after all those months? All it would take was to flip it over to see what was written on the other side, but instead he continued to stare. It reminded him of the last card on the poker table, waiting for the dealer to reveal its face, but it carried none of the variables he was used to when faced with cards. He could calculate odds instinctively. Reading men and predicting feints had always been his specialty. That card was a different territory, one that defied prediction. The range of possibility on its hidden surface area was vast (though not completely beyond comprehension: some of the space was certainly taken up by a stamp). That card seemed to open a space in his chest filled with lightness even as it punctured his lungs.

            What did the bloody card say!?

            The dealer was not present but his impatience had grown enough that he peeled the card off the floor himself. He held it for a beat, eyes flicking over it once and then again. On the third beat he tore it in quarters, letting the pieces fall to the ground. Nothing. Just his name and address, the generic greeting message from the card manufacturer, and her own name printed neatly at the bottom.

            Nothing! A sound caught in his throat which became a growl and then a roar. The sound alone was not enough to address his frustration, so he overturned the chair nearby, but it was too light to create a satisfying crash.

            “What the fuck!? What the fuck!?” He thought he was muttering to himself but he may very well have been yelling. Why would she go to the trouble of finding out his birthday only to send nothing? Was she trying to fuck with him?

            “Looks like I guessed right,” said a voice from behind him. Panther stood in the open doorway with a grocery bag. “Can’t let you be alone on the Day of Rest after all.”

            Hiruma only glared at him.

            “Hey, don’t look at me with those murder eyes. It’s not nice,” Panther quipped cheerfully as he let himself in.

            “Did you ever think maybe I want to be alone?” Hiruma scrambled to reassemble the mental scaffolding that would keep him sane, or functional at the very least.

            “What you want isn’t really the point.” Despite his youthful energy and childish grin, Panther could be just like the old man sometimes. His foot slid as he stepped on the torn pieces of the card. He gathered them up and tossed them on the counter where he then placed the grocery bag. “If you want to throw furniture around, I say you should get a bigger place. I’m telling you, this place is too small! It’s not like you can’t afford something bigger.”

            “Everything in this country is too damn big,” Hiruma retorted. The one room apartment was luxurious compared to his former business hotel accommodations. It made the mess that much more impressive. “I don’t need more space.”

            Panther was unpacking the grocery bag. “I’m surprised you were even able to find something this tiny. I bet it reminds you of home, doesn’t it?”

            “Tch. You are too noisy. And too nosy.” Hiruma righted the chair he had thrown. He never thought he could actually love a piece of furniture, but the light frame of this chair reclined at an angle that was perfectly suited for laptop use, despite being designed long before personal computers were invented. He had even started sleeping in that chair, since the mattress on the floor was too empty for him to fall asleep. But sleeping in the chair didn’t stop him from dreaming.

            “Suit yourself… but you’ve gotta eat, bro. Even on your off-days.”

            “Humans can go weeks without eating.” Hiruma dismissed his concerns with blithe rationality as he let his body sink into the ergonomic work of art and flicked through the pages of the magazine. A full-page article on the Enma Fires included an interview with their famous captain, asking about his hopes for his final shot at the Rice Bowl and his plans after graduation. Even better, some young upstarts were vying for the title of Eyeshield 21. The fucking shrimp must have been having the time of his life trying to outrun the new kids.

            Panther shook his head with an amused grin as he busied himself in the kitchen area. “So, what’s this all about? That black book stuff again? I told you already, it won’t work.”

            “Tch. It’ll work.” Hiruma’s fingers slipped under his shirt to trace the scars of his mark. The situation with the Armadillos seemed that much more unjust when reminded of the amateur leagues that had gotten him that far, where the struggle had been to overcome rivals on opposing teams, not his own. Agon was different. Agon was predictable and therefore useful. “Fucking idiots. What was the fucking point of drafting a zero-gravity runner if they don’t put you on the field?”

           “Wallace has his connections upstairs. New guys don’t play unless he gives the okay. You know that. The new coach is his guy, too.”

           “Yeah, I am aware of his connections. Kehkehkeh! He better enjoy them while they last.”

           Panther laughed uneasily. “Sena says you know what you’re doing, so I’ll let you keep on with whatever hexes you are working on over there. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

           Hiruma displayed a fang-baring smirk. “If you think you can stop me, you are the crazy one.”

           “This isn’t a joke. I said I worked damn hard to get here, I didn’t mean showing up early to practice. There were a thousand traps between me and here and I managed to keep out of every one, but not all the guys I grew up with can say that. You know how I did it?”

           “Some guys are smart, some are tough and some are fast.” Hiruma smirked. “Something tells me you are one of the fast ones. Not sure were I got that idea…”

           “Heh, yeah, being fast helps. What I meant was patience. Endurance. I’ll get on the field with or without you.” Panther reminded him. “I’ll prove myself, just like in high school, and they won’t be able to ignore what I’ve got.”

           “That’s lovely,” Hiruma pretended to ignore his friend’s concerns, but he had not failed to include them in his calculations. He had understood the stakes and had taken risks accordingly—but Panther did not need to worry about that. “Unfortunately, I made a promise to a troublesome person in this room about getting to the fucking Suρer Boωl, and there is a lot more than that keeping us from it. We don’t have time to wait for that fucking switchblade to have a personal revelation about how his power trip is sabotaging the entire team. Getting you on the field is only the first phase of the operation. After we get you in play, that’s when the hard work starts, so you’d better be ready.”

            “Aww man, my plan was to start slacking,” Panther grinned wide. “But I need you out there too. Our combo— man, it is absolute gold! I’m telling you, they can’t ignore it! We’re gonna blow them all away, they won’t even know what happened!”

            Panther was right so often it risked becoming annoying, but it was an observation of a pure, unadulterated truth. Yes, their combo was absolute fucking gold. During free practice, when they worked on their passes together, football was suddenly a transcendental experience again. What did he expect, playing with the fastest running back on Earth, the World Youth MVP? Panther was a gift and the Armadillos would be made to respect that. They would be made into a team that deserved such a gift. Very, very soon.

            “So, first we get put into play, then what?” Panther asked, chopping something.

            Hiruma closed his eyes. “Then we learn what is stronger: pride or hate or the desire to win.”

            Panther did not reply but Hiruma knew he was grinning. He listened to the knife strike against the board and water rinsing something, then heard the crinkle of the bag as it was moved aside.

            “Hey, hey what!?” Panther exclaimed. He had finally noticed the pieces of the card he had rescued from the floor. “You didn’t tell me it’s your birthday!”

            “It’s not.” Hiruma’s face showed equal parts feigned innocence and genuine annoyance.

            “Why did you get a card, then? Is it from your grandma? My grandma always sends cards for my birthday.” Panther pushed the pieces together like a puzzle and studied it with more interest than expected. Hiruma ground his teeth. Maybe they would get sharper. Maybe they would break off. He was not sure how long this discussion could continue before everything came crashing down again. Was she trying to fuck with him!?

            Panther was cheerfully oblivious. “So when is your birthday? Is it already passed? Huh? Well? Tell me!”

            “That is classified information.” Erased from the record— that was one of his talents as well. America couldn’t change that. He breathed out and let the memories evaporate into an empty, hollow, vaporous nothing.

            “Aww, come on! Just tell me, Sharky. I won’t tell.”

            That idiotic nickname was Panther’s last line of offense. Though Hiruma vehemently hated it he also knew that if he denied him one more time Panther would drop the topic entirely, so he turned all his attention to the magazine. Takekura still had a team in the running for the Rice Bowl, even if the old man must have been a thousand years old at that point. Fatty had joined after he graduated—not that they needed another heavyweight in their already overwhelming line. That damn team… He smirked, letting the ache take over. He could have stayed. He could have joined Takekura and they could have kept playing together, but they wouldn’t let him say no to the NFL. It was the impossible dream. _I won’t let you just dream…_ _You have to go._ He had never hated words more than he had hated those, but she always had the right fucking answers. Not even allowed near the bench much less the field, it was still the dream and he was inside it, awake and alive.

            Panther was humming a traditional American birthday melody as he continued his preparations. “Well, if it _is_ your birthday it’s perfect timing! Watt taught us how to make that delicious food from your homeland, and I have been meaning to try it on you.”

            “And what the fuck is that exactly?” Hiruma raised an eyebrow, more skeptical than he had been in a long time and moodier than he usually allowed. The last thing he wanted was to risk involuntarily remembering something hidden in a taste. He noticed he was already thinking of ways to avoid eating whatever it was Panther was making right there in his own kitchen. Of course, the solution was simple: he would just leave. Yes, he could be quite tactful when it came to dealing with unwelcome situations.

            “It’s sushi!” Panther’s smile was beyond enormous.

            Hiruma’s eyes doubled in size, gripped with a mix of horror and morbid curiosity at the idea of Panther attempting to make sushi. He tried to picture him slicing the delicate flesh of fish with the precision of a sushi master with his ludic grin, but it was impossible. It was better to not think about carving flesh at all.

            “Ha ha ha! Man, your face is priceless!!” Panther burst out laughing. “Don’t worry, this is a special American version. It’s called the Sushi Burrito.”

            “What?” Hiruma sat up suddenly, any trace of melancholy forgotten. “Is that a thing?”

            “Yeah, it’s a thing. A really great thing.”

            “Fuck. Is that… pulled pork?!” Hiruma examined the preparations that spanned the counter, still incomplete. The resemblance to Japanese cooking could only be tenuous at best; though the combination of toasted seaweed and rice could conceivably result in sushi-shaped objects, it was possibly the most American thing of all time… not to mention the ultimate act of culinary sacrilege. He could not hold back the tears that accompanied his cackling laugh.

            “Kehkehkeh! Okay, fine, I guess it is my birthday! Today and tomorrow and the next day. And the day after that.”

 

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I have been obsessed with sushi-burrito since I visited San Francisco last year, but I wasn't able to try them. I guess my imagination was too much, because I have since discovered they are basically te-maki :(. So please imagine this story as taking place in an AU where sushi-burrito is a fusing n of both sushi AND burrito!!


	6. PART II

~*~

           By the end of the first season Hiruma was able to deliver a crucial piece of strategy.

           “Whooh!!!” hooted one of Wallace’s lackeys as they entered the locker room where Hiruma and Panther were already mostly changed. “It stinks something fierce in here!”

           “Yeahahahah, it stinks like a dog shat on another dog, a dead dog that gone rotted,” laughed another.

           Wallace himself stared at the pair with dark eyes. “What’re you filth doin’ here?” he said, too calmly. “It’s game day.”

           Hiruma met his stare with a devious smile. It was hard to look dangerous and cool when he was so completely pleased with himself. Beside him, Panther’s grin was more childlike than usual as he laced up his shoes. Turf cleats, for finally taking the field.

           To the other man, their smiles were overly defiant. “Ah, I see. You finally got tired of bein’ alive.” Wallace turned to his gear, dismissing them. “Jerry, take out the garbage, would you?”

           A half-dozen guys moved in to grab them. They were twice his size, because everyone on the team was twice his size—except for the ones that were three times bigger than him. But their attention was diverted by the sound of a voice that was rarely heard. Nathaniel had his own fleet of men who delivered his messages to the ears of the unworthy, most days.

           “Coach says they’re playing today.” The words might have been soft and low if they had not been formed in the imposing frame of the man who was king of the line. Instead they rumbled like a storm in the distance.

           “Coach never said nothin’ to me.” Wallace mused, adjusting a strap on his shoulder pad. “Strange, don’t you think?”

           “One of my boys heard a whisper. Comin’ from higher up, beyond your reach.” Nathaniel pulled his helmet from the seat of the bench and made his way to the door. A handful of players flanked him, each several shades darker than any of the men who followed Wallace. “Those two are supposed to play.”

           “Strange and stranger still. Well, that don’t matter if they can’t walk. Can’t walk, can’t play, that’s what I always say. Jerry.”

           “Yessir.”

           Hiruma felt the lackeys double their grip on his collar. The plan was unfolding, their chance had finally arrived. Whatever the goons did now, he had to find a way to walk on that field. And Panther had to run. Despite the way the odds seemed to be stacked, he couldn’t help but grin. When all was said and done, he didn’t need to walk as long as he could throw a pass. He only needed to step on the field, and he had practiced this extensively.

           Nathaniel paused as he passed the other man, peering down at him. “Aren’t you curious? Even after all your lessons, he’s still here… Don’t you wanna see what that Cheshire psychopath can do?”

           Wallace glanced toward the grinning blond incredulously. “Why would I waste space on the field with that fool? I pride myself on using a little something called good sense.”

           “You’re scared.” Nathaniel’s stare was calm but sufficiently provocative. “You’ve seen them at practice. You’re scared they’re better than you. You’re scared like a little girl. If they can’t play because of you, everybody here is gonna know the reason.”

           Hiruma’s smile grew into something maniacal. He had not dared to hope for such a turn of events. Maybe walking was in the cards after all.

           “So chivalrous all of a sudden, Nate.” Wallace raised an eyebrow, but he wasn’t amused. “You fallen in love with our little princess?”

           Compared to fists and knives and all the other ways Wallace reminded them of what he could do and get away with, insults felt so good. This was one of his favorites, possibly because Hiruma had always harbored the belief that he could pull off Peach’s outfit better than the damsel herself. The image did nothing to calm his laughter. Of course, there was no dress that an AK47 could not improve…

           “Yeah, a long, long time ago, I fell in love. Nothin’ like it, nothin’ felt so good, not even breaking the face of a shithead like you, Wally.”

           Half of Wallace’s guys jumped at the threat while others sneered, “He’s a fag! He said it! Ha ha ha!” 

           “Shut the fuck up!” Wallace barked. “You tryin’ to make some kind of point, gorilla?”

           “Winning. That’s what I fell in love with. It’s been a good long while since this team’s done that.” Nathaniel replied. “Might be you’re scared, or might be you like being a loser on a loser team. Me, I can handle being shamed by whatever this yellow import has got, so long as we _win_. So if they can’t walk on the field today, for reasons that track back to you…”

           “You can’t touch me. You know that.”

           “Didn’t say it’d be me. Didn’t say nothin’ about touchin’ you at all. But you’ll be hurtin’ all the same.”

           Wallace shifted his gaze from Nathaniel to the two players in question then turned to his lackeys. “Gentlemen, this is a momentous occasion. This man-ape and I actually fucking agree on something. If we lose this game, someone will be hurtin’ so bad they’ll wish they were dead. And two fuckers in particular will be rottin’ in a shallow grave before the sun rises. Understood?”

           There was a general cheer.

           Hiruma and Panther were the last to make their way down the hall that lead to the field. Panther had already assumed the intense concentration that the game always inspired in him. For his part, Hiruma had managed to subdue his laughter but his face was still plastered with a crazy grin. The pieces were finally in motion and it felt damn good, like life coming back to paralyzed limbs. He cracked his knuckles just to make sure it was not a dream.

           “You are one cocky son of a bitch.” The soft, deep voice made their joints rattle. Nathaniel had waited for them in the corridor. “That face of yours is gonna get you killed.”

           “Kehkehkeh! I’ll take my chances.” Hiruma walked past the man who loomed above him without a glance, as if to show just how cocky he was capable of being. Nathaniel responded to the affront by plucking him up by the neck.

           “Make no mistake, faggot. I give exactly zero fucks about you. If that whoreson is eating his own ass by the end of this, I take that as welcome fare. But you’re in the wrong place. This is the _American_ league. This is a war zone. We got scores to settle. We got our own little scrap of pride to defend. If you get in the way, if you fuck this up, I will personally murder you before Wally-boy can even touch you.”

           Even with the hands around his throat, Hiruma managed another cackle. The second phase of his plans had begun sooner than planned. “I think you’ll find I can be very useful.”

           “Nathaniel,” Panther intervened. “Just leave him.”

           “I don’t understand why you’re getting mixed up with this punk-ass fag, Panther,” the linebacker replied. He turned his attention back to Hiruma to deliver a final warning. “Without Panther you are nothing. You’re smart enough to know that but crazy enough to forget. Forgetting would be a very dangerous thing for you, understand?” He tossed the foreign player to the ground and stalked toward the field entrance.

           “Hey,” Hiruma called after him. He had tucked his laughter away; it was time to play the ‘cool and mysterious’ card once again. “We want the same thing.”

           Nathaniel glanced back, skeptical and amused. “And what is that?”

           “Same thing as every guy in this league.”

           “You are one smartass. A good-as-dead smartass,” the huge man snorted. “It’s a long way to the Suρer Boωl.”

           “Keh. Yeah, the chances are pretty fucking slim. I’d say the odds are about sixty-eight-thousand to one.” Hiruma extended a wry grin. “But you’ll never get any closer until you remember one thing.”

           “And what might that be?”

           Hiruma’s smile showed all his fangs. “We are on the same team.”

 

 ~*~

 

           The Armadillos won that game. They turned it around in the second half, not long after Hiruma and Panther were put into play. Given the chance, they were able to prove themselves, but it did not prevent them from being dragged off and beaten after the game.

           “You can run, you know,” Hiruma reminded Panther after their assailants had cleared out. “There’s no point both us going through this.”

           “Nah, it wouldn’t be right,” Panther half grinned, half grimaced as he touched some point in his shoulder that was overly tender. “Leaving a brother behind? You must be crazier than I thought.”

           “Hey Demoncats, you better hurry up.” It was one of Nathaniel’s messenger boys. He pulled them up by their jerseys like dolls and set them on their feet. “You two sure showed some mighty fine stuff today, yeah! Damn, Wally was pissed!” the man laughed, slapping them each on the back. “But now you gotta pay the price!”

           Hiruma and Panther exchanged a worried glance. The messenger pushed their shoulders until they moved out the door, shaking his head in dismay. “Seriously, get your asses to the signing table pronto or who knows what’s gonna happen to your contracts!”

           It was as good as torture, as far as Hiruma was concerned. Panther seemed to be enjoying it, smiling and chatting with faithful Armadillos fans, signing shirts and hats and even napkins snagged from the concession when the less faithful realized they were finally going to deliver a win. Hiruma brooded at the end of the table, imagining the felt markers as assault weapons and dreaming of his nightly visit to the firing range. After a time he sensed three figures hovering at the edge of the crowd, staring at him. He was used to being stared at, of course, but not with coy glances that suggested someone actually _wanted_ his attention. He looked away deliberately, but the lack of eye contact only seemed to embolden the onlookers.

           “Hey! Now! Now!” one whispered, “Go on, ask him!”

           “Stop shoving! You do it!”

           “Naww, you gotta do it.”

           Hiruma stole a glance from the corner of his eye. His admirers were three boys, just at that age that their growth spurts had left them scrawny and awkward. The smallest one was being pushed ahead and seemed to be gathering all his courage to address him.

           “Um…mm… E-Excuse me. M-mister Hiruma…” the boy stuttered until Hiruma turned his full glare on him, then continued at a terrifying speed, “SircouldIaskyousomethingandalsocouldIpleasegetyourautographplease?”

           Hiruma sighed. “Sorry, no comprendo.”

           When one of the other boys began yammering in Spanish he realized what a miscalculation the statement had been. “Okay fine, what? You want an autograph?”

           The smaller boy nodded, holding out a small notebook. It was plain graph paper. Hiruma grabbed it and scrawled his name across the page with the marker. The other two watched with fascination and elbowed their friend.

           “It’s like your name, Lin!”

           The smaller boy did not say anything.

           “What, you kids never seen kanji before?” Hiruma was a little incredulous at the excitement about just writing his name.

           “Yeah, we know it! Lin’s got some on his mailbox! And his grandpa’s got these newspapers covered in them!”

           Hiruma studied the boy who was staring at the ground as though he were hoping it would swallow him up. “How do you write it? Your name.” he asked. He knew most guys asked for their fans’ names for their autographs, but it had always struck him as a waste of time. If these morons were freaking out over a Chinese character, however, a couple extra strokes wouldn’t hurt.

           Lin glanced at him, shy and surprised to be addressed. Then he traced the character with his finger against the table.

           “Like ‘forest’?” Hiruma confirmed before raising his pen.

           A light seemed to spark under the boy’s eyes at the recognition, and he almost forgot to nod. Hiruma added the dedication and pushed it back into the boy’s hands. He stared at the notebook so long Hiruma started to suspect he was broken.

           “What? You don’t like it? What were you expecting? It’s just a piece of paper.”

           The other two boys were practically dancing with excitement. “Ask him! Ask him! You gotta do it! Now’s your chance!”

           Hiruma realized the inequitable enforcement of Texas’ gun laws had likely saved at least one life that day, and narrowly prevented him from being convicted of the murder of a minor or two.1

           “Mr. Hiruma. Can… Can I ask you a question?”

           Hiruma silently willed the boy to get on with it, not trusting himself to move. He earnestly believed he was capable of murder without the help of a firearm.

           “What would I need to be a football player?”

           Role model crap. “Tch, why are you asking me?”

           “Cuz…” Lin studied the ground again, “Everyone says cuz I’m Asian, I’ve got to be good at math.”

           Hiruma could not contain his grin. “And, _are_ you good at math?”

           The boy looked like he was about to cry, but nodded anyway.

           “Well, that’s good.” Hiruma kicked his heels up on the table, leaning back in his chair. “That’s useful.”

           The oddly hopeful look returned to the boy’s eyes.

           “What about me? My mom’s Korean!” His friend chimed in, still jumping in place. He did not look Korean. He might as well have been Panther’s brother. Not that it mattered.

           “Keh, okay, sure. So, are you good at math?”

           The boy stopped in mid-bounce, realizing the shortfall in his logic. For some reason his disappointment bothered Hiruma. He inspected the trio. All three of them were scrawny, but this one was slightly heavier due to what could only be attributed to big bones— muscle and fat had little to do with it, at least. Still, there was some potential there. “What are you, his bodyguard?”

           The bigger boy immediately stepped in front of his friend and into the role. “Yeah, no one messes with me! I’d like to see them get past me!”

           “That’s good.” Hiruma searched for a stick of gum but came up empty handed. “Yeah, that’s good.”

           The third boy seemed to be waiting for an assignment. Three hopeless boys. That familiar ache gnawed at him as he smirked with amusement. “You wanna play football too?”

           The boy nodded, grinning and eager.

           “If you had to pick one, which would it be: soccer or track and field?”

           The trio exchanged puzzled looks. Finally the last one replied. “Soccer, I guess. But I wanna play football!”

           “So it’s settled.” Hiruma pointed to each of them in turn. “Kicker. Lineman. Quarterback. All you need is a team name. And a couple more players. But this is enough to start.”

           They gaped a moment in disbelief. A real NFL player had just made them into a team. Eventually their excitement reached their bodies and they began jumping around like caffeinated mountain goats, making plans for their first practice.

           “They also need a ball,” Panther passed him one of the giveaways. It was regulation size, much too big for those little punks to handle. Perfect. Hiruma tossed it at the boys and they chased after it clumsily.

           “Hey, fuckin’ quarterback.” Hiruma did not know why he did it, but he called out before they could run off. There was one more thing. “To answer your question. What you need to play football… Keh keh keh…” He leaned across the table. The boys gathered close to receive his awesome wisdom.

           “Do you know what ‘audacity’ means?”

           Of course they didn’t know. They were maybe thirteen and obviously more interested in video games than dictionaries. And American kids didn’t bother with cram school, from what he gathered.

           “I think I know it…” the kicker replied. He must have been the bookworm of the group. “But I don’t know what it means. Maybe something like ‘amazing’ ?”

           “It means you do shit without giving a fuck what anyone else says or thinks.” It wasn’t the SAT definition, but it got the meaning across. That definition had made someone laugh, once. “To play football, you need shit-tons of audacity. You do not give a fuck what anyone else thinks. Got it?”

           “We don’t give a fuck! Yeah! To the Suρer Boωl!”

           Hearing the curse from the mouths of children was strangely shocking, but he was confident that he was not the one who had introduced it to them at the very least. Over his shoulder Panther guarded his cheerful smile, but embarrassed exasperation seemed to lurk behind it. Hiruma had not laughed so much in one day since he had been drafted. “Kehkehkeh! Fly my pretties!”

 

~*~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes:  
> 1// I realize this particular enforcement of gun laws is in contradiction with the Death March arc, where H’s use of firearms was unaffected by the socio-political context (at least he was not allowed to bring his weapons across the border and was required to acquire more when he got to the USA!). But since my interest is discrimination and the changing distribution of power depending on social contexts, I chose to go with a different level of realism than might be considered cannon. Sorry Hiruma…


	7. Part III

~*~

            There were things he had missed that felt good after so long, but he couldn’t let it show.

            Being crushed under Kurita’s hug.

            Being crushed under Musashi’s stare.

            Why couldn’t he let it show again? He couldn’t remember the reason, but he didn’t know any other way.

            “I told you that you’d make us proud,” Baldy didn’t quite slur but his enormous smile was dead drunk. “And that you’d come back.”

            It was some kind of homecoming. Forget a private room, the entire place was theirs. Hiruma could check every player of every Japanese team he had ever been involved with off a mental attendance list: Devil Bats, World Youth Team Japan, Saikyoudai, it was a full roster. Half of them had brought their old teammates, whether out of habit or for old times’ sake. Allies and rivals, he must have fired off a hundred rounds that night.

            But the sun had to go and rise. Those who had stuck it out to the end— the ones who had earned a place in his book of friendship, if he ever decided to swing to the other side of the notebook pendulum— stumbled to the exit as Hiruma covered the staggering tab with hard-earned American bills.

            Kurita and Musashi were waiting outside; he was crashing at the temple until he figured his shit out. The fat ass looked like he wanted to hug him again, so Hiruma recoiled dramatically as though it were a terrible punishment. But he had forgotten about his knee. The slightest wrong angle and the pain was unbearable. This was his curse. A curse and a blessing: now he was home. Whatever that meant.

            Oblivious, Kurita scooped him up and spun him around in the air, narrowly avoiding lampposts and power lines. They really should not let that creature drink, gentle giant or no. He set Hiruma down delicately and then led the way forward, humming a merry tune. A smug smile was plastered on Musashi’s face.

            “What the fuck is so amusing, old man?”

            “I think it is time for another promise.”

            “If it is sports related we might have to stick to a spectator sport. Unless you want to join me in rehab. Fuck, I miss walking like a normal person!” It was all he could do to not openly limp.

            “No, but we can write the agreement on the side of some old electronics equipment, if that’s the magic ritual you need to keep it.”

            “I keep all my goddamn promises.” His reply was so instinctively quick it was already out of his mouth before he realized it was a lie. “For fucksake, just say it already!”

            Musashi smiled at his frustration and then smiled wider as he watched Kurita skipping ahead of them. “You gotta promise never to leave again.”

            “Fuck you, old man.” The pain in his knee was evenly matched with some pain coming from somewhere else—the old ache of betraying them by leaving them behind that felt that much sharper after finally feeling so light mixed with a newer pain that he had brought back with him. But there was no sense in uselessly arguing with someone who could never understand. Tch. He corrected himself. The old man was the one person who could possibly understand. But he would rather not test that theory.

            “Gonna be tough for you, though, being a big fish in a small pond.”

            “Keh, that I can handle.”

            “Well, we should count ourselves lucky we didn’t burn the city down.” Musashi chuckled. “Every person who ever met you was in that restaurant, with all those open braziers and all the booze…”

            “No.” Hiruma’s eyes darkened. “Someone was missing.”

            “It’s not like she had much of a choice. It’s hard enough with the kid but her grandfather is sick agai—”

            “Her kid?!” his steps failed to advance.

            “Yeah, just one.” Musashi replied. “You heard Toga is expecting his third? Who’d have guessed...”

            “Fuckin’ fishgoggles can have a hundred brats for all I care. Forget that! Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

            “Tell you?” Musashi checked that he wasn’t walking into a trap but when he saw the reaction was genuine his look was almost pitying. “I assumed you knew.”

            “I was on the other side of the fucking ocean, how the fuck would I know?!!”

            “Phones. E-mail. Postcards, even. The rest of the world uses them for exactly this purpose.”

            He had done all he could to forget her, while he was awake at least. She had sent cards for New Years and his fucking birthday, but there was no news or photos or _clues_. Because she had totally moved on. She had probably moved on before he had even walked out the door. She wanted him out of the way. She wanted him to hurt in the worst way possible. She—

            “Hiruma.” Musashi interrupted the loop in his brain as they arrived at the temple. “You should go see her.”

            “Tch. If I do that it will end in murder, and I don’t want to leave some poor kid without a father.”

            There was a dead pause.

            “What?” Hiruma spat the word before he felt the air change. “Fuck. Is it someone I know?”

            “Sleep first,” Musashi gestured to the doorway. “Then go see her.”

            “Who is it?”

            “I’m done talking to you.”

            “Old man…” A dangerous tone rose in his voice.

            Musashi turned to face him before sliding the door shut. “The kid is without a father already. Now sleep.”

 

~*~

 

            The ceiling of his temple room was streaked with the light of midafternoon. Hiruma had been staring at it long enough to know every curve in the slats of wood as he ran a finger along the scars on his side. He remembered another ceiling: the simple beige paint and plain lamp of the business-hotel he had lived in for years. The last time he saw it was the day she had sent him away in complete disregard of the fact he had given her his life. There had been no questions, there was no doubt, the lines between himself and her were blurred… until it was over. Then it turned out they were two different people after all. They could live on opposite sides of the world and everything was just fine. He had gone to America. He had played in the fucking NFL. What did he care if she had a kid? The old man was right, she might as well have three kids by now.

            The sound of the door sliding was followed by the clattering of trays and dishes as Kurita tried to be quiet. After the noise subsided Hiruma could feel his friend’s eyes watching him anxiously, waiting for him to join the meal he had set out. He pushed the blanket aside and sat up, a wave of pain in his skull reminding him of the dangers of all-you-can-drink parties.

            Kurita’s eyes gleamed as he held out a bowl of rice, heaped high. In the same movement he remembered the tea, and scooped up the teapot to offer it as well. “Do you want toast? I made some coffee, too!” He had to drop the first set of breakfast options to push the others toward him.

            “Sure,” Hiruma yawned and rubbed his face, “I’ll have one of everything.”

            Obviously content, Kurita ensured everything was within easy reach before he began his own meal. Hiruma pretended to be focused on his food as he watched Kurita’s every gesture. Once, long ago, he had asked him if he was the kind of person who used ‘I tried my best’ as an excuse for failure. He had seen Kurita change. He had changed from something pathetic to someone worthy of his friendship.

            “Hey Fatty,” Hiruma said, his mouth half full of rice. “What would you have done if we lost before the Christmas Bowl?”

            Kurita forgot about the bowl in his hand. “We… we didn’t lose. We promised. We went there. Remember?”

            “Tch. I know we went there, fat ass. We won the bloody thing.” Hiruma snatched a delicate omelet roll from a dish and shoved it in his mouth. “I’m asking what if things were different?”

            “Why are you asking this?” He was probably afraid to answer. In the past, any time Kurita had doubted their success Hiruma had always responded forcefully with firearms, and he had never endorsed hypothetical speculation. “We won. We made our promise real.”

            “I’m saying what if we couldn’t keep our promise!?” Hiruma had not noticed his fingers slip under his shirt to trace his mark.

            Kurita stared at him, eyes wobbling under the threat of tears. “Are you asking if we would still be friends if we broke our promise?”

            Hiruma snarled with impatience. “What if one of us had said, ‘I tried my best, I did everything I could’? Would you still be friends with someone who said that?”

            During his first three years, the Armadillos did not make it to the Suρer Boωl. The first year it took too long to salvage anything from the warring within the team and they failed to advance. The second year, the factions negotiated a ceasefire, unleashing all the potential that had been isolated and squandered until then. They made the division finals. They even let him play quarterback, from time to time. The third year they got all the way to the conference championships, ending a mere point away from the Big Game. But then Wallace was traded.

            And so was Panther.

            “Yes! Of course I would be friends with someone who broke their promise!” Tears were no longer the primary feature of Kurita’s eyes. They were also steadfast and unfailing. “Of course I would! Breaking a promise is fine, as long as I get to be together with them while we try our best to reach it!”

            The tackle from which his knee refused to heal came early in his fourth season. Once, he would never let something like that stop him. Once, he would have stayed and moved heaven and earth to ensure their wins and keep their promise, but something had changed. He did not care about revenge after Panther was gone. And he did not care about winning. “Even if the one who broke it was me?”

            “Yes, Hiruma.” Tears still bubbled down Kurita's face as he reached across the table and pulled his friend against him as gently as possible, nearly cracking his spine in the process. “Especially you.”

            Hiruma stared past Kurita’s shoulder at the ceiling, but this time the temple was underwater as he drowned slowly in the shame of his broken promise.

~*~


	8. Part III

 ~*~

            “You had better hide! Okay, I’ll count from ten. Ten! …nine …eight…”

            Hiruma saw a small human dart between some playground equipment as the only woman that ever mattered held her hands over her eyes. He stepped in front of her and waited. It had been days before he had forced himself to face whatever was left after the years of silence. When the countdown ended, he did not know what would happen. Standing there without any idea of the outcome or the odds was a strange feeling, somewhere between deathly afraid and acutely alive. If he took a step forward he could keep her eyes covered a little longer. Spike. Stop the clock. Get back in formation...

            “…two …one! Set! Hut! Hut! H—oh.”

            First came the bright flash of her eyes as she saw him, alert and aware and completely seeing him before she slipped into a soft, dreamlike smile. This was the smile she wore when she was perfectly content, but there was a film between her and the world. She wasn’t seeing him anymore. She was lost in a memory.

            He had not come for a memory. “You look fucking old.”

            Her eyes snapped back to the present but instead of the angry rejoinder he expected, her smile remained constant, gentle, patient. “I heard you were back. I wanted to go to the welcome party, but… well, things like that are past our bedtime.”

            “How come there are no kids in this fucking park?”

            “Hopefully there is still one left around here somewhere,” she laughed. “There were some here earlier, but… she’s not very good with other kids. She’s not shy, at least. Just a bit too fierce for them.”

            “Keh, I think I can relate.”

            “Mama!!” A small, insistent voice called from behind the slide, “Hutto!”

            “Excuse me, I have to find a tiny monster now,” Mamori explained. “Do you want help me?”

            “Kehkehkeh! Sure, I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

            “You will not eat my baby!!!” Finally her reaction was familiar—perhaps a memory was what he had wanted after all. She raced protectively to the spot the voice had come from. Hiruma moved to outrun her from the other side, but his knee had other plans. By the time he reached them Mamori was under the slide tickling a barefoot child who shrieked with laughter and wriggled free, running away like life was a hilarious game.

            “Oh no! You escaped!” Mamori exclaimed, making no effort to follow. The girl ran around the slide but skidded to a halt when she encountered Hiruma’s knee. She looked up. Hiruma looked down. The child grinned and growled and coiled as if to pounce. Then she held up three fingers. “Hutto!” she stated before sprinting away.

            His stare followed her. Specifically, the points of her ears.

            “I’m sorry, that’s kind of her favorite word lately.” Mamori stood and brushed the dirt off her knees.

            “Why didn’t you tell me?”

            “Tsk…” she picked a pair of socks from the ground as though she had not heard him, “She is going to catch a cold at this rate.”           

            “Mamori, why didn’t you fucking tell me?”

            When she didn’t reply again he started pacing.

            “What the fuck… what the fuck…?” he muttered loudly.

            From the other side of the park came the chant, “Fuh ku! Fuh ku!”

            Mamori sighed. “I hope you are happy.”

            “I think I had a right to know!”

            She watched her daughter run a moment longer before replying. “I know. But I’m not sorry.”

            “What?!” Hiruma stared at her in disbelief. She spoke as though she had rehearsed the words. Like she had been practicing for that moment.

            “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid of what you would do.”

            “What the fuck did you think I would do?!?”

            (“Fuh ku!!” said the echo.)

            “I was afraid you would come back.”

            He sank heavily onto the playground structure beside him. He tried to imagine a worse answer. Nothing came to him.

            “I guess you feel like I betrayed you,” she said after many moments watching him grind his teeth. Then she conceded an explanation that sounded almost like a peace offering. “It was the only way I could see for both of us to reach our dreams.”

            The flurry of erratic footsteps that had been weaving around the park slowed to a halt in front of him. They were nearly of a height, with him sitting there. He examined the girl’s face and she grinned again, twin fangs shining.

            “Yu-chan, introductions now, okay?” Mamori straightened the hem of her sweater. The girl nodded, blinking slowly. “What is your name?”

            She held up three fingers with one hand and rubbed her eyes with the other.

            “Yume, right? Yu-me.”

            “Yuume…”

            “Good! How old are you?”

            Yume held her fingers higher. She swayed a bit as she stood.

            “She’s not three until next month,” Mamori corrected in a low voice for the benefit of the other grown-up, then resumed her instruction: “Nice to meet you, Hiruma-senshu.”

            The little human tried to mimic her mother’s bow while keeping her fingers raised in the air. She lost her balance slightly but managed not to fall. Then a yawn that seemed bigger than she was broke over her face. Both arms stretched as high as she could reach until her mother picked her up.

            “Yume, huh?” Hiruma raised an eyebrow.

            “She’s my dream.” Mamori patted the sleepy head against her shoulder.

            Of course. Not luck running out, not being beaten by the odds. “You planned this.”

            The certainty in her look told him everything. No, she couldn’t risk leaving it to chance. Not her dream. It was the very quality he looked for in the people he chose as teammates: they would never let anything get in the way of their dreams. But he had compared her dream to the apocalypse… and that had been the beginning of the end.

            “I need to put her to bed,” Mamori sounded slightly apologetic as she knelt to pick up a shoe that had been kicked off long before. “You can walk us home if you like.”

            Hiruma watched as she hunted for the match and leaned awkwardly to snag it while still holding the drowsy child against her.

            “What are you doing?”

            “Sorry, I’m just gathering her things. We’ll be ready to go in a moment.” She shook the grass off a blanket with one hand and tucked it around her daughter.

            “Why don’t you ask me for help?”

            “Oh…” She looked up, surprised, as though the thought had never occurred to her. “I’ve been fine on my own for a long time. I didn’t think…” She trailed off as his glare interrupted her thoughts.

            “You are such a terrible liar.”

            “I’m not lying. I’m taking care of everything.”

            “Liar.”

            “I’m not saying it’s easy. It’s not. It’s been hard. Really hard. Mama has helped so much, especially since I went back to work. Yume’s finally started sleeping through the night, at least, but now with Grampa… No, it’s not easy. It has been so hard but it has been so, so good.”

            She wrapped both arms around the girl, holding her close. It would be ridiculous to say a person could glow with love, but somehow she was glowing. The tiny shoes that she still held seemed to sprout from the side of her embrace like leaves. Hiruma moved to her and plucked them from her fingers.

            Her eyes followed him. “I’m not expecting anything of you, Youichi. It’s fine. We will be fine.”

            He returned her gaze. Something was missing: her hands in his hair.

            “Is there anything else?”

            “Just my bag, over there.”

            They left the park and walked in silence, except the occasional deep breath from the sleeping child. When she caught the slight limp in his step Mamori moved as if to tend to it before realizing there was nothing she could do. It was just an old habit.

            “Is it over for you now?”

            “Tch, do you think something like this will stop me?” he smirked. “But, yeah, the pro leagues are over. That was a clock that was always running down anyway. It was just a question of when and how.”

            “No time outs in the NFL?”

            “Keh, basically.”

            “Was it everything you dreamed?”

            The clever remark he had poised and ready failed to depart from his tongue. He had expected the question to be barbed, but it was kind in the way only she could be kind. Was it everything he had dreamed? It had been passion and hatred and tedium and fire and glory and so many forms of pain. It had been the wild madness of turning a world upside down while being beaten down by it. What had he dreamed it would be? He hadn’t dreamed of _what_ or _how_ , he had only wanted the chance to struggle and fight. In those moments on the field everything else was forgotten. It had been so hard but so very, very good.

            “Yeah. It was fun.”

            It was only when she broke her eyes away from his face that he realized she had been watching him intently. In the relation between her chest and shoulders, some tension that he hadn’t noticed before was replaced with relief. She seemed assured of something, reassured. “So, what’s next?”

            “Next…!” He recovered his composure with a cackle, “Kehkehkeh! I suspect Takekura will be climbing the ranks and blowing all those other loser firms out of the water. Some hopeless junior high team will emerge from nowhere and make everyone shit their pants with surprise. Stuff like that.”

            “It sounds perfect.”

            They were walking side by side on the familiar route that lead to her house. Something was missing: his fingertips trapped in hers.

            “I heard the fuckin’ geezer is sick.”

            The smile she had held constant since the park faded.

            “Is it bad?”

            “He was sick before, but he got better. This time…” she shook her head, “I don’t know. You wouldn’t recognize him.”

            “A couple of insults and I’m sure he’ll be good as new.”

            She smiled at his joke but her eyes were still sad. “Before, when he was well, he was so proud of you. Of course, the whole country was proud… half of them were confused over whether they should disown you or not, but they were still proud. But Grampa gloated to anyone who would listen, about how he had locked horns with the devil himself.”

            “I hope he didn’t misrepresent how many times I left him penniless in a puddle of his own urine.”

            “He most certainly left that part out,” she remarked wryly. “He laughed so much—you know how he laughed when he was winning. It is hard to know what he is thinking now. But I think he misses you.”

            “Is he the only one?”

            “No. He is not the only one.”

            They had reached her gate and the path to her front step. There was something missing: her feet only half in her shoes, standing on tiptoes. They exchanged a long, quiet look.

            “Mamori. Aren’t you going to ask me?”

            “Ask you what?”

            “You always ask.”

            She shifted her daughter to her other shoulder. “What do I ask?”

            “That question I never answer.”

            “Hu…tto…” Yume muttered through her sleep.

            Mamori stroked her hair and seemed to lose herself in her face. Then she remembered. “What are your dreams, Hiruma Youichi?”

            “You are my dream.”

            She searched his face as though she could not understand his words. “If that is true, why are you standing so far away?”

            In a step he closed the distance between them, holding her close in his arms with his forehead pressed against hers. He looked her in the eyes.“You are my dream,” he repeated.

            Mamori blinked the tears from her lashes even as she smiled, then nodded toward the child in her arms—in both their arms. “We are kind of a package deal, her and I.”

            “Maybe you should send her a memo, we were a package deal before she came along,” he replied. “Besides, she’ll need a proper coach soon.”

            “Are you suggesting I am not bringing up my star quarterback properly?”

            “Listen, I didn’t spend those years in the pro leagues without bringing back something. I’ve got the experience. I’ll make up the difference.”

            Mamori smiled, daring to ask: “You know not everything is about football, right?”

            “Keh! I can’t even understand the words that are coming out of your mouth.”

            “What if Yume doesn’t want to play football?”

            “Her favourite word is ‘hut’, how can she not like football?”

            “It’s a possible future. Your daughter might not want to play football.”

            “ _Our_ daughter might take more after you, and that is fine. Somehow you turned out okay. Maybe she’ll become a professional gambler. Kehkehkeh!!!”

            “Hiruma Youichi!!!”

            “Kehkehkehkehkeh!” his laughter grew at her protest. When it finally died away, he pushed her hair behind her ear. “I came back. Is that okay?”

            She nodded, still teary.

            “I might be a really bad influence on this person.”

            “I know,” she replied, then laughed at herself. “I just didn’t think it would happen so fast!”

            “It’s only going to get worse.”

            “Maybe. Probably. But there is one thing you have to promise never to do,” she met his eyes with a new gravity. “If you cannot promise this, then you should just go now and forget about us.”

            All she asked was a promise, that thing he had gained so much experience in breaking. “So tell me.”

            “You have to promise never to leave.” Her face was defiant and her voice was stern, but her words reminded him of something warm. “I won’t let you break her heart. If you are going to be with us you have to promise to stay.”

            “Fine. Done. I promise never to leave.” Hiruma tightened his hold around them. Maybe this was home. “I promise to stay.”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Please hold on! There is still one chapter left!)


	9. Part III

 ~*~

            “I see you found them,” Mami said, watching motionlessly from the kitchen as they entered the house. Hiruma matched her stare.

            “Mama!” Mamori practically sang as she slipped off her shoes. “Hiruma is staying for dinner!”

            “I see,” was the terse reply.

            “I’ll just put Yu-chan down for her nap, please make yourself at home.” Mamori climbed the stairs to the bedroom, leaving him alone with her mother.

            Mami turned her attention to the vegetables she was cutting. This was among the very few moments in his life that Hiruma knew it was essential to not open his mouth. Even if she had always embodied patience, gentleness and warmth, he had never been fooled into thinking she was soft, but until then he had imagined they had some kind of alliance. She transferred the diced carrots and turnips to the pan and wiped her hands on her apron. Then she looked at him again with that heavy stare. “Well, aren’t you going to pay your respects?”

            With a slight gesture she indicated the living room, so he made his way to the door, more than happy to leave behind their tension. Between collections of toys a withered man was reclined in a special chair, his face and body distorted with the tell-tale signature of a stroke. His eyes were open, but Hiruma could not tell if he was aware he was there.

            “So, fuckin’ geezer,” he made himself comfortable on the couch opposite, stretching his arms behind his head and balancing a foot on his knee, “I see you managed to not lose the house to your shitty gambling! Seems like you upped your game somehow! Kehkehkeh!”

            Once there would have been a passionate riposte. A stick of gum helped as he let the silence stretch on, remembering their old arguments. Nostalgia was not his style, but ever since he had come back it seemed like everything was a reminder of some earlier time.

            Mamori’s voice echoed through the door. “Yu-chan, wait! Be careful!”

            With a slight twist of his neck he could catch a glimpse of the toddler crawling backward down the stairs. Her speed and technique seemed respectable, he reflected with a smirk. Mamori appeared in view, hovering over her, flustered even as she tried to be patient. When Yume reached the bottom of the stairs she ran with the skill she had demonstrated at the park: unpredictable but surprisingly swift. Her steps took her to a pile of toys near his feet.

            “She usually naps for another half hour at least.” Mamori sighed as she checked her watch. “If she tires out and goes to bed too early she’ll be up in the middle of the night again.”

            “Kehkehkeh! If she wakes up I’ll give her a time out!”

            Mamori turned up her nose. “You say that now, but you haven’t heard her lungs at work yet. Prepare to meet your match as the Commander from Hell.”

            “Nothing I love more than a good adversary. Kehkehkeh!”

            “Mamori,” Mami called in a low voice from the kitchen. “May I have a word with you, please?”

            Mamori retreated to the other room as Yume produced a sturdy book from the mess she had made. “Bug!” she announced, holding it up to Hiruma. She deposited it in his lap before she pulled herself onto the couch.

            “You are not wrong,” he observed. The book was entitled _Bugs_ and each page featured a different creepy crawler.

            “Bug!” Yume pointed at a caterpillar. She turned the page and pointed again, this time to a grasshopper. “Bug!”

            “Keh, you think you are pretty damn smart, don’t you?” He pointed at shiny black insect with an impressive antler-like nose. “What’s that?”

            Yume looked at him with new appreciation. Obviously he had demonstrated some vocabulary she was familiar with and perhaps now appeared smarter in her eyes. “Bug!”

            “Yeah. Rhinoceros beetle, got it?”

            “Ra…namus…”

            “Rhinoceros…”

            From the other room the discussion had become heated enough he could make out each word clearly.

            “So, you are just going to let him walk back into your life?”

            “Mama, I said it’s fine.”

            “You think it’s fine? Why should he get to disappear for years— years, Mamori!—without a word, while he is off playing games? And now you want him to live with us?”

            “Yes! Mama…” she tried to explain. “I couldn’t let myself believe he would ever come back. Hoping would have just broken my heart over and over. So now…”

            “ ‘Would have’ broken your heart? Mamori, you are my daughter. I know you better than anyone. Maybe you think he doesn’t owe you anything, but he certainly owes me for all the time I have had to watch you pretending to be strong. I am not going to just let him back in this house as if nothing happened.”

            Hiruma felt her grandfather’s eyes on him, though when he looked back at him they still seemed to be staring at nothing. “What?” he spat at the older man, “I am a pretty fucking despicable person, remember?”

            “Bug?” Yume seemed to want his opinion. Hiruma nodded in approval, but his thoughts were elsewhere. “Praying mantis.”

            “Ma..n..tis.”

            “Keh. Good. Pray…ing… man…tis.”

            “Pray…in… mantis…”

            The conversation in the other room continued to filter through the walls.

            “Don’t you miss how it was before, when he was here?”

            “When he was inhaling my cooking and robbing your grandfather blind?”

            “Yes,” Mamori’s voice was smiling as though she was holding back laughter, “A little crazy, like a real family. Like when Papa was—”

            The sharp sound of a slap cut through the air. “Watch your mouth, young lady.”

            After a pause that was long enough to test the tenderness of her cheek, Mamori shot back, “Shouldn’t Yume have a chance to know her father?”

            “Don’t bring your father into this,” Mami warned. Then her tone softened unexpectedly. “Honestly, Mamori, listen to yourself. You have turned out better than most young people these days and your father was rarely even in the country. Some arrangements can be made, but Yume’s happiness doesn’t depend on Hiruma being under this roof.”

            “Yume’s happiness—”

            “—depends on you. It is your life, I realize that. But if you want to be with him as a family, you will have to do it elsewhere.”

            “Mama, you and Grampa are our family,” Mamori sounded more hurt by those words than by her mother’s hand. “You know I wouldn’t leave you, especially with Grampa sick. You would be alone.”

            “It’s the choice you have to make.”

            Mamori’s voice was desperate. “There has to be something that would make you change your mind!”

            “Something impossible,” her mother replied. “We both know he will never apologise.”

            “Is that why you never let Papa come back? He wouldn’t apologise?”

            “It was his decision. How could I live with someone who did not respect me enough to apologise?”

            If Mamori replied he could not hear the response. Hiruma knew her father was a pilot.1 He knew he was no longer part of the family. He did not know what he had done. But he finally understood why Mamori had been able to stand up to the terrible Hiruma Youichi while everyone else in school shook with fear: that woman was her mother.

            “Firefly,” Yume indicated the light spots on a dark page. There were a dozen, and she pointed to each one in turn. “Firefly. Firefly. Firefly-fly-fly-fly…”

            “Keh, trying to get my attention? Show-off...” Hiruma scoffed, but just below the surface he was irrationally proud. Had she been sitting in his lap the whole time? He turned the page. “What’s that?”

            “Da…Dragonfly-bug!”

            The book was at an end but she turned it to the beginning and started again. He half-listened, periodically offering the names of insects as he contemplated the conversation he was not supposed to hear. That woman was right, arrangements could be made, he did not need to enter that house ever again. He never should have entered in the first place, but Mamori had asked him, all those years ago, and he had promised. He had kept that one. It was the new one he had to worry about. He formed a bubble with his gum as he considered the variables and engineered a new plan. There seemed to be only thing to do if he was going to keep from drowning in another broken promise.

            The bubble snapped unexpectedly, revealing Yume’s surprised face and a poised finger covered in gum. Her eyes widened from the shock of the explosion and threatened to fill with tears. He grasped her shoulders. “Hey. No crying.”

            The command had no effect. Her mouth quivered and a tragic sound bellowed from her lungs. He would prefer that the mysteries of a toddler not render him completely incompetent, but for a moment he had no idea what to do. In the same moment, nothing could be more hilarious. Scared by her own curiosity, crying over bubblegum. He laughed and held her against him as her bawling drew her mother and grandmother from the kitchen.

            “What happened?!” Mamori rushed to her daughter but was simultaneously alarmed by Hiruma’s reaction. “Hiruma! Why are you laughing!? Why is she crying?”

            “Kehkehkeh, she’s fine.” He held out the book as if it were proof.

Mamori put her hands on her hips. “If she is crying over this book it is definitely your fault.”

            “Hey, Mama-mori,” he almost laughed at the brilliant new nickname, but decided to smirk instead. It was a bit bland without the fucking prefix, but he might as well make some effort, for the kid. Yume perked up at the part of the word she associated with her mother, her sobs de-escalating into mere heaving breaths as he flipped open to a page in the Book of Bugs. “What’s that?”

            Unsure what he was playing at, Mamori looked at the picture with a puzzled expression, but before she could answer Yume shouted, “Ra-- Raaaanoserus bug!!!!”

            Mamori and her mother gaped in silence for a moment. It was a beautiful sight. Hiruma grinned and patted her hair. “That’s my girl. Kehkehkehkehkeh!”

            Yume grinned and giggled, too, perhaps over-pleased with their reactions. Mamori’s smile might have been perfectly content if it weren’t for how much of it was made up of relief. Mami observed them all but did not smile.

            “Hey,” Hiruma passed Yume to Mamori and nodded to her mother. “Give me a minute with this woman.”

            Though she seemed apprehensive at the prospect, Mamori took Yume’s hand and guided her to the door.

            “No, Mamori will stay.” Mami moved closer to her father, placing a hand on his shoulder and facing Hiruma. “If you have something to say, the whole family should hear it.”

            He grit his teeth. She was not making it any easier. He stood slowly as he considered his options, but he had no other plan so he made his move. The sharp intake of breath from the doorway was Mamori not trusting her own eyes as his knee touched the floor. That was a tiny reward. He let the other drop against the wood paneling. The tatami room would have been more appropriate, maybe, but not any easier. It was not so much different from standing, he tried to convince himself as he pulled out the two guns he had on him—not very flashy, not much to look at—and lay them in front of him. Then, fists on knees, he faced the stern woman and her debilitated father. But he would not bow.

            “You know who I am.”

            He looked into the eyes of the woman who had always seemed to see through him and his facades and all his tricks. She looked back without any of the warmth he had grown used to over the years. For a long moment no one spoke.

            Finally Mami broke the silence. “It has been a long time, Hiruma Youichi.”

            He nodded imperceptibly.

            “You never called. You never wrote. You never inquired into our health through our mutual friends.”

            Again, all he could do was acknowledge the words without moving.

            “My daughter wants me to believe that you, the one who always flaunted his mastery of information, in all these years did not even suspect you had left a child behind. How am I supposed to believe something like that?”

            “There are reasons,” he spoke through his teeth. “All of them are bad.”

            “I think we agree on that point.” For a moment she almost seemed more tired than harsh. “You have something to say to me, Hiruma?”

            “Yeah.” He stared at the weapons in front of him, wishing this were one of the times they could be useful, but these were not the tools for the work he had to do. He met her eyes again. “Let me live with you. Here. Together.” Each word was a struggle but the last was the hardest, and the quietest. “Please.”

            In the doorway, Mamori held her breath. Yume recognised a word. “Please!”

            “We let you into our home before,” Mami reminded him.

            “About that…” It was impossible to match her stare so he diverted his eyes to the floor, his voice dropping below a whisper. “Thank you.”

            She blinked as though she had misheard. “What did you say?”

            “I said, thank you, alright!?” he snapped. “You knew who I was but you let me in anyway. I didn’t know if you were stupid or crazy or what was wrong with you. Thank you for dinner. And for your fuckin’ insanely delicious soup. And…” he broke off. It was even harder than he imagined, making those thoughts into sounds that meant something.

            “And…?” Mami had just heard so many unexpected things she could not imagine there were more.

            Hiruma glanced to Mamori and back. “…and for raising her. You did everything right. You win. I fold.” He would not bow, but the angle of his torso was beginning to lean dangerously.

            “You fold…” Mami repeated. Her words had not warmed but had lost their cutting edge. “Is that your idea of an apology? Moments ago you had the audacity to ask to move in. Those are not the words of someone who has folded.”

            “Keh. No, not audacity.” His mouth curled up, pleased that she was proving to be as smart as he had believed. “It was my duty to ask. My life belongs to someone else and I promised her I would stay.”

            Mami studied him quietly. “Is that so?”

            “Yeah,” he replied. “Listen, lady… yeah, and gramps, too. We all agree on one thing: we want Mamori to be happy. To be happy she needs to be here, with you. So if you care about her happiness, you can’t send her away. And I promised not to leave. You see the trouble with that, I’m sure?”

            “You are living up to your reputation,” Mami folded her arms. “We both want Mamori to be happy, yes. So I have to give in to what you want?”

            “I want what Mamori wants. I’ll go wherever she tells me. If that means I have to apologise, then I apologise. But I won’t let you make a liar out of me.”

            Mami scrutinised him again, searching for any trace of insincerity. Finally she nodded. “What do you want, Mamori?”

            They turned to Mamori expectantly. She half-jumped under the intensity of their eyes. “W-what are you saying? ”

            “Tell us what you want.”

            “B-but… Mama, you said… That if I wanted… I would have to… and…” Mamori was at a loss for words. Mami crossed to her daughter and touched her face with her most maternal gesture.

            “Sweetie, you deserve to be happy. He thinks he is very clever, but he’s right. That is what I want, and what your grandfather wants, more than anything. If this man living here is really what would make you happy, so be it. At least I will know immediately if he does anything to compromise that happiness.” She cast a warning glare toward Hiruma, still on his knees. “I wonder if he is brave enough to stay here…”

            “Keh, lady,” Hiruma smirked. “You obviously do not know me at all.”

            “Is that so?” she raised an eyebrow. “I guess we shall see. Please excuse me, I have to check on dinner.”

            She disappeared through the door. Mamori might have been frozen in place if Yume had not been working hard to pull free of her hands.

            “Hiruma…”

            He looked at her with a self-congratulatory grin. A win was a win, and it felt good.

            “…please put those guns away before Yume gets her hands on them.”

            He obeyed. She was right. Of course.

            “And… Hiruma…”

            He waited for her to continue but she said nothing. Yume escaped her grasp and ran to the nearest toy—a stuffed animal, not a firearm—while Mamori remained trapped in her thoughts without words. He couldn’t tell if she was about to laugh or cry or yell at him. “Keh… what is it?”

            “I love you.”

            Cry it was. He extended his arm. She slipped against him, tears meeting his shoulder.

            “You are supposed to be happy, remember?” he murmured in her ear.

            She nodded. “I’m happy. I swear.”

            “Keh! You never swear…” Hiruma glanced toward the door, “and I will get in a hell of a lot of trouble if you start now.”

            “Don’t worry,” she whispered, “I’ll protect you.”

            His arms tightened with all his strength before he noticed she was being crushed, then he loosened them enough for her to breathe.

 

~*~

 

            The spare futon was in the closet of the tatami room on the main floor. Hiruma spread it out and tossed the blanket to the side, waiting as Mamori brought the linens from the storage in the hall. He watched her unfold them, attentive to the task, aware that he should help but not wanting to disrupt the scene before him. The sheet that fluttered as she flapped it open, the pull-cord of the ceiling lamp catching against her hair. Her eyes turning to him, expecting him to tuck the corners nearest to him in place and that familiar little flame of frustration that flared up in her as he failed to cooperate. He savoured all these little things, the rewards for his promise never to leave.

            “Honestly, can’t you even make your own bed?” Mamori commented on his inaction, but he stepped in her path as she moved to take care of the other end. Straightening linens could wait. They were alone, face to face, and it was hard to breathe. Looking in her eyes, every moment that had passed between them seemed to condense in a spark that crackled over his skin. He traced the fall of her hair and the curve of her shoulders with the edge of his fingers. She looked back at him. For a moment it was as though they both were afraid to move.

            “Is this a dream…?” Her words seemed to float through the air.

            “No. I had this dream a thousands times,” he replied. “This is better.”

            Their lips brushed in the most maddeningly delicate of kisses. It did not stay delicate for long. She buried her fingers deep in his hair as their mouths connected again, her body rising against him, drawn up in a wave that he caught with both hands, feeling the distance close between his own body and her spine as he pulled the small of her back to him. She slid her hands down his neck, grasping his shoulders then moving down over his hips. He was enjoying the feeling of her through her clothes, but did not complain when she slipped her fingers under his shirt and across his skin in direct contact with his nerves. His kisses progressed down her neck, toward that spot that he knew would leave her weak in his arms. He could barely think straight, but the idea of throwing her on the imperfectly tucked futon was just beginning to form when she suddenly pulled away.

            “Oh my… goodness… what---!?” she gasped.

            She was staring at his side, his shirt lifted to expose the scars on his ribs. It was a full second before he could react, reaching for cord of the lamp and filling the room with darkness. Mamori grabbed the string in turn, but the next setting was too low to make out the mark clearly. Hiruma seized her hand to prevent her from switching it to full light again. With his other hand he pulled her fingers away from his side and the shirt fell back down, covering his skin.

            “Youichi… what… what…?” Even in the low light he could see the panicked worry in her eyes. “What happened…!?”

            Hiruma had forgotten what a grotesque sight his mark was. He took her face in his hands to break her stare from where it had been and tried to make her look at him instead. “I will never tell you about that. So just forget about it.”

            “Forget…?” Her eyes kept shifting back toward his side. “How can I forget? How can you expect me to forget that?”

            The look in her eyes reminded him of how he had felt back in their third year of high school when he had learnt that she did not consider herself a member of the Devil Bats. It had been one of the truths he had never questioned and had served as a touchstone, part of the stable foundation on which the rest of his confidence had rested. Finding it had been a lie had shattered his reality and left him without bearings. It brought to the surface a feeling that had always lurked not far away. The feeling that he was, in fact, crazy. If what she had seen had shattered some truth for her, if she could no longer tell reality from madness, then she was right: there was no way she would forget.

            “Three questions,” he conceded, “Yes or no. Then we will never speak of this again. Understood?”

            Mamori nodded, gulping back a mad loop of thoughts to form a coherent question. “Who did this to you?”

            “I said, yes or no.”

            “…Did you do this?” she hesitantly rephrased.

            “Some of it, yeah…”

            There was a quiet pause as she took in the information. Her voice trembled as she looked up at him again. “Does it hurt?”

            “Yeah. ” He closed his eyes, thinking of the handshake that had sealed a promise in blood. “It hurts. But not in the way that you think.”

            “I was so selfish… If I had gone with you… I could have… I didn’t think…” She was starting to destabilize again.

            “You couldn’t have stopped this.” He pulled her head against her chest and stroked her hair. “And anyway, it is not the worst thing…”

            “Not the worst thing? What could be worse?”

            “Tch…” It was not a yes or no question, but for some reason he wanted to answer. Could he explain things best left unspoken, things better understood through experience? “I was living in a place I didn’t belong, and some people there were happy to remind me in the ugliest ways.”

            “So it was really… it was…” she still seemed to cringe at the pain he had nearly forgotten though she had only gotten a glimpse of the scars. “I’m so sorry.”

            “There is no point being sorry. The point is, I could just fucking leave. The whole time I was over there, Japan was still here, waiting to take me back whenever I had enough. So it was easy, in comparison.”

            “In comparison to what?” she asked in a whisper, barely concealing an apprehensive shiver.

            “You said half the people in this country weren’t sure if they should disown me. Keh… I break every social contract and offend all their precious sensibilities, but they still have to admit I have some right to be here. By blood or coincidence of birth or whatever the terms, this place is mine. Pure fucking chance: this body, this place, these rights…” He had never included them in his calculations, but they were always a part of the equation. But he did not have time to reflect on that revelation. He was rambling already, and that was only the preamble. “But over there I saw guys denied that right in the very place they were born and raised. Where else are they supposed to belong? That place should be theirs, but every force was set against them since the day they were born— since before they were born, passed down from everything that was denied to their parents and grandparents. All their lives they had to struggle just to be recognised. I was able to leave all that shit and go back to a place I have a right to, but those guys don’t have that choice. That is worse than a couple scars that will never go away.”

            He expected a long silence, or a confused jumble of words. Instead she breathed a quiet, knowing sound. “Ah.”

            “ ‘Ah’?” He raised an eyebrow. “ ‘Ah’, what?”

            “ ‘Ah’, now I understand why you stayed there for so long.”

            “Really?” Had she not been listening? He had given up. He had left. “Why did I stay there for so long, fucking genius?”

            “Not to improve your vocabulary, obviously...” she reflected.

            “Don’t pretend like you understand then change the subject. I guarantee you have no idea what you are talking about.”

            It ran the risk of escalating into one of their old arguments, but not for the first time that day she responded with a patience that surprised him. He couldn’t shake the idea that being a mother had taught her this, but she was treating him more like an adult than he ever remembered.

            “Of course I can’t understand that, but I understand you. If you saw something unjust, something that seemed impossible to overcome, there is no way you would be able to resist fighting against it with all your cunning and daring and fire. Until every last hand had been played.”

            “Is that why…?” he mused aloud. He had felt the injustice down into the center of his bones, but he hadn’t done anything about it. Not really. But for a split second while she was speaking he had felt like maybe breaking a promise wasn’t the end of the world so long as they had struggled together trying to make it true. That was what the fat ass had said, he remembered. Maybe those idiots were conspiring against him. The thought made him grin, “I thought it was because I wouldn’t give up on the Suρer Boωl until my body finally fucked me over.”

            “I have no doubt that had something to do with it, too,” she pretended to scowl, then pretended to laugh. Finally she let all the joking fall away and wrapped her arms around him, suffocatingly tight. “It doesn’t matter what the reason is. Now you are here, where you belong.”

 

 

~* fin *~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnote:  
> 1// Yes, in some omake somewhere Mamori's father is said to be a pilot! I figured this explained why he was pretty much MIA for all my stories, even if I wasn't really thinking of it at the time. 
> 
> Post-Script  
> Thanks to everyone for reading to the end!  
> From start to finish this story changed so much -- in total it has had 5 different endings! It started as a short little epilogue that ended in heartbreak, which I thought was the inevitable outcome for a relationship between two people with such different values and dreams. It was then amended to add a happy ending so that I would not dwell in the sadness of my ship being destroyed for the rest of my life.  
> However, my test subject/valued editor Caeslin suggested the readers would not feel they had really "earned" a reunion without getting a little bit of Hiruma's story in America, so I added Part II (which was at one point in reverse-chronological order.... X_X; ). That created the opportunity to have a story line with Panther. I was super nervous about representing him badly (though I figured at least I couldn't do worse than the original series!), but I was also interested in the challenge of showing how Hiruma's power in Japan relied at least partially on his relative racial privilege and citizenship status--- in that exercise, however, I think I failed to sufficiently distinguish between the multiple forms of racism at work, in particular the kinds that would affect Hiruma vs anti-black racism. To say the least, that part of the story ended up a little heavier than the rest of my otherwise indulgent romance story! I hope as readers you were able to enjoy at least some of this rollercoaster! :D
> 
> On the topic of these two having kids I want to bring to your attention this [pretty cute fan art](http://conflictosinternos.tumblr.com/post/26452091455) which I came across after I had been writing for a while. Of course red hair is recessive so I doubt either of those kids would end up being redheads --- still exactly as cute as I imagined!
> 
> Finally, I have added another installment of this series, taking place a few years later: [the Missing Plane](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13108353/chapters/29990001).


End file.
